Better Than I Know Myself
by cartersdaughter
Summary: <html><head></head>Set during/after 6.13, but began before 6.14 aired. Eventually AU. Dean is afraid of Sam having more seizures caused by memories, so he and Bobby form a plan to deal with Sam's "condition". I own nothing Supernatural. Better summary welcome. If you would like a preview of upcoming chapters say so in a review, I have many future scenes written and would love to share.</html>
1. Zoning Out

Chapter 1-Zoning Out

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, and all mistakes are my own.

Sam stared at the board which had all the information that they had gathered attempting to make a connection between what he remembered about the case he had worked with Samuel and the case he had Dean were working now. Dean glanced up from the research he was thumbing through to watch his brother. Sam had said he remembered, remembered some of what had happened here. Granted, it was only flashes, but Dean wasn't sure he could tolerate even that. Scratching at the wall was dangerous. Death had said so. Cass had said so. Dean went back through paging through research looking up again when he didn't hear Sam messing with the pictures anymore. "You okay?" Dean asked. Sam was just standing there; he hadn't moved in a few minutes and his eyes were darting back and forth as though he was viewing a tennis match rather than a bunch of strings and pictures on a wall. "Sam?" Sam didn't respond. He didn't move. He just continued to stare at the wall. The prolonged silence was beginning to make Dean agitated. "Sam," he said again without getting a response. The research dropped from his hands, the papers scattering as they hit the floor. He had crossed the room and was about to grab Sam's shoulder. However, seeing Sam begin to move again he scooped his research from the floor and pretended to be studying it.

As quickly as he had lapsed into his "zone," Sam turned to Dean panting as though he had just run five miles, a terrified look on his face. "I know what happened," he said.

Dean completely forgot about his research and stared at his little brother a look of confusion on his face. Knowing he couldn't stop his brother from remembering Dean figured his might as well get Sam to talk about it. The confusion was swiftly covered with a smile and laugh, "So what happened, and how do we gank the spider?" Dean sat calmly, or at least what appeared to Sam as calmly on the couch, while his brother launched into what he had remembered from his last case with Samuel from the female arachne, to setting up Roy as bait, to killing all the arachne and all her victims. After Sam had finished, Dean figured it was time to add his two cents, "So what now?"

"I have to call Brenna," Sam said his eyes roaming the room in an attempt to find his phone. Seeing it wedged underneath the evidence box, Sam grabbed it and began to dial.

"What are you going to say to Brenna?" Dean asked listening to the ringing as Sam's phone tried to make a connection from within the abandoned house.

"Relax, Dean," Sam said shooting his brother a silencing look as the phone clicked finally making the connection.

As he listened to Sam explain what happened on his case with Samuel to Brenna, leaving out the detail that he killed her husband, Dean wondered how to stop what was happening. He knew the wall was coming down. It was breaking off piece by piece, memory by memory. Sam was remembering the last year. After that what was going to come? Memories of hell?

Sam continued talking with Brenna, while Dean sank deeper into his thoughts. What to do first? Should he call Bobby or attempt to get Sam to stop scratching at the wall? Getting Sam to stop scratching was going to be the hard part. Dean was running out of ways to convince his little brother to leave the Great Wall of Sam alone.

Ever since Sam was able to put forth his opinions, whether that be through talking or through crying, whatever it took to get Dean's attention, Sam had been stubborn. If Dean, Bobby, Pastor Jim, or especially Dad had told Sam to do something they didn't want him to do, well, Sam made sure it got done. Once Sam was told not to try something minutes later that's exactly what he did. Now, Dean knew that this was in human nature, but sometimes it seemed as though someone had seen fit to give Sam an extra dose of this part of human nature. Dean had told Sam not to scratch at the wall because behind it was memories of hell and his past year without Dean. Sam ever the researcher and sponge for knowledge wanted to know more. His guilty conscience needed to know what he had done without a soul so he could make amends.

Sam always wanted to make amends, whether the indiscretion was as small as breaking one of Dean's cassette tapes or something as large as letting the devil loose from hell. Sam was always trying to be Mr. Fix-It. Whether the wrong could be fixed or not Sam needed to try, and most of the time Dean was willing to let him. Let Sam get himself a little banged up, bruised and scraped attempting to fix what he had broken. It was what he needed to heal. But not this time. No, this time Dean was placing his foot firmly on the ground. That short time of zoning out Sam had experienced a few minutes ago was all the time Dean was going to give him to scratch at the wall. One memory was plenty. Though, because he knew Sam better than he knew himself, Dean knew that this would not be the end of the searching. Sam always wanted and felt he needed to know more. Information was the key to everything for Sam. Dean just needed to figure out how convince Sam to only go after the information which wouldn't cause him harm, or at least harm that Dean that couldn't fix.

So, Dean wracked his brain to figure out a sure fire way to prevent Sam from doing anything to disturb the wall. He was still talking to Brenna while Dean observed to make sure that Sam didn't let his guilty conscience get the better of him.

"What can I do to keep him away from that wall?" Dean mused. "It's not like I can just put up a fence. Even if I did Sam would probably find a way to climb over it anyway. Isn't that what the problem is anyway, Sam trying to get through a barrier? "All Dean wanted to do was protect Sam and take care of him, but what could he do. This wasn't some supernatural baddie Dean could just kill, some vengeful spirit whose bones could be salted and burned. Even under normal circumstances, this wasn't an illness that could be destroyed with medication or a wound that could be mended with bandages and alcohol.

Dean stared down at his phone contemplating whether or not to call Bobby. It seemed sometimes as though Bobby had all the answers, even though the brothers knew he didn't. Despite the fact that Bobby didn't know everything, he knew quite a lot. Maybe he would be able to offer more information and support. Dean hand hovered over the phone, but then he pulled back. Bobby probably wouldn't be able to help anyway. Calling him would only serve to make Sam angry and ignore Dean's warning all the more. Besides, Dean shouldn't rely on Bobby so much; Sam was his responsibility. It was his job and had been for years. At the same time, Bobby might be able to do research on Sam's so called "condition." He might be able to find something on how to stop the cracks from occurring. Dean's fingers again ghosted over the keys of his phone the decision to call or not call weighing heavily on his mind. Sam had finished speaking with Brenna. Well, the phone call to Bobby would have to wait even though Dean hadn't decided to make it. But just because he hadn't made the call now didn't mean he wasn't going to later. Dean made up his mind to ask for Bobby's help. However, he wouldn't tell Sam and would make sure Bobby wouldn't either. No use having Sam mad at them for something which could possibly enforce the wall. They didn't need another slip-up like what had happened when Sam had decided to ask Castiel what had happened when he was wandering around without a soul. "There, it was settled," Dean thought to himself. He would call Bobby later. In the long run it didn't matter whether or not Sam was angry. Angry meant he had a soul. And Dean was going to make sure he kept it, and it didn't turn him into a drooling vegetable. First, they would finish the case. After that Dean was going to call Bobby and see what he could do to help with the situation.


	2. Car Ride Conversations

Chapter 2: Car Ride Confessions

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, and all mistakes are my own.

Sam looked worried as he hung up the phone turning toward Dean. Dean concerned asked, "What was that about?"

"She wants me to swing by."

"For?"

"She said it's no big deal, but I can tell she's in deep trouble," Sam turned pleading eyes to Dean.

"Aw hell. All right then. Let's go," Dean began throwing together what he would need for this hunt. Sam had said they had killed the arachne with machetes last time. Sam had also set the building on fire. Dean smiled to himself. Knives and fire, add a little rock salt and you have the basic hunting kit. Dean much more preferred fire, but cutting an evil fugly's head off was almost as good. After packing the duffle, Dean looked up to see his brother still hadn't moved. "Come Sam. Shake the lead out. You said something's wrong so let's go." By the time Sam had made it out to the car, the duffle was in the trunk and Dean was already settled in the driver's seat. The low hum of Metallic could be barely heard over the rumble of the Impala's engine. Dean tapped the steering wheel impatiently humming along with "Enter Sandman." It wasn't so much that he could hear the song, but he had it memorized and it calmed him down. By keeping himself calm, he in turn was keeping Sam calm as well. He was also causing Sam to focus on him because Sam would think Dean was nervous, so he would focus on Dean rather than the mess that was going on inside his skull. Sam slid into his usual spot on the passenger side without saying a word. Dean's humming and the low buzz of the cassette player were the only things to break the silence.

Dean watched his little brother with trepidation and worry written all over his face. What if these incidents escalated? What if instead of remembering his year with Samuel, Sam started to remember hell? Dean hoped this was just an isolated episode. He also hoped his younger brother wouldn't notice how scared he actually was. But as Dean kept one eye on his brother and one eye on the road he realized that Sam wasn't as perceptive as usual. He just stared out the window studying the passing street lights paying zero attention to Dean.

"Sam," Dean shook his brother's shoulder in an attempt to gain his attention without startling him. "Hey little brother, what's going on in that giant brain of yours?"

Sam continued to stare out the window, focusing on nothing and everything at the same time, "Nothing, just thinking."

"All you ever do is think," Dean quipped with a chuckle, but his mind was going an entirely different direction. Thinking. That was exactly what Dean needed Sam not to do. Knowing Sam, he was stewing and feeling guilty over the part he had played in the last hunt not being completely finished, and Brenna being in trouble now. "Sam, we need to talk about what happened at the motel," Dean said knowing he was opening a huge can of worms, but the last thing he wanted was for the wall to gain an even bigger crack than it already had.

"What do you mean what happened?" Sam asked playing dumb because he knew full well what Dean was referring to, and he knew Dean knew he knew.

"You remembering. We need to talk about it, "Dean said dreading the probable chick flick moment that was to follow, but for his brother he would do anything.

"Talk! Dean you never want to talk. What happened to burying your emotions? To no one needs to know what I'm feeling?" Dean could tell Sam was beginning to get agitated, but agitated meant that he was feeling something in connection with what he had seen. Knowing Sam as well as he did Dean's best bet was a combination of guilt and fear. And rather than let his little brother bottle up all that guilt and stew in his own juices until he did something stupid, Dean wanted to get Sam to talk it out, so he could help shoulder the burden.

"I'm just saying, Sam…"

"Saying what? I don't want to talk about it Dean. I don't want to talk about what happened here before. I don't want to talk about the fact that I remembered. Why can't we just leave it at that? Why can't you just leave it alone?"

"Because you're my brother Sam and I care about you. You always feel guilty about stuff that isn't even your fault in any way. And I know you Sam. You're feeling guilty right now."

"Of course I'm feeling guilty Dean. Who knows what I did when I didn't have a soul? I mean look at what I did to Bobby and to you. Can you even imagine what I would do to a total stranger? Look at Roy, I used him as bait; then I shot him. Can you imaging what that feels like Dean to know that I did horrible things, but no be able to remember what they are? How am I supposed to set things right if I don't know what was wrong? I need to fix this Dean."

"Fix what exactly, Sam? You can't change what you did in the past. All you can do now is try to make a better future. Like what you can do right now is help Brenna."

"You don't get it Dean! I need to know what I did so I can set things right. "

"No, Sam. You don't get it. We don't know how fragile that wall is that Death put in your head. For all we know, it could fall down at any second. It's dangerous."

"That's exactly my point, Dean. We don't know when the wall is going to fall, so I have to set as many things right as I can before it does."

"Sam, wait for just a second. Let's just think this through."

"Wait for what Dean? What is there to think through? Brenna's in deep trouble right now. And who knows how many other people I hurt besides her? How many others I put in danger?" Sam turned away from his brother and back towards the window. Dean could see the gears turning in Sam's head. He knew if he didn't do something soon, little brother was going to strike out on his own and attempt to figure out what he had done in his year without a conscience. Dean knew this could be disastrous.

"Sam, were you not paying attention to a word I said?" Dean growled his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. "The things you don't know could kill you. Death said don't scratch the wall. So why don't you just leave well enough alone?"

"Because Dean I need to know."

"I'm just saying, what if this zoning out thing was just the beginning."

"What do you mean just the beginning? Nothing's gonna happen, Dean. You need to quit worrying," Sam sighed in exasperation at his older brother's antics. Yes, he knew it was Dean's prerogative to be big brother, but at the same time this was Sam's problem.

"Quit worrying, Sam," Dean ground out exasperated. He couldn't see how Sam was taking this so lightly. "Maybe you should start. What if this happens again? We need to figure out how to stop it from happening again. "

"What if I don't want to stop it from happening again? I want to know what happened. I need to know what I did, so I can fix it. I'm missing an entire year, Dean. Do you even know what's that's like? "

"No, I don't know what that's like, but you don't know what you're saying Sam. It's dangerous. How many times do I have to explain to you it doesn't matter what you did. There's nothing to fix. We'll figure out how to deal with this. Just not right now."

"By not right now, you mean never. I know you, Dean. And what do you mean it doesn't matter? Who knows how many other people I hurt or killed," Sam couldn't believe what Dean was saying. Who was he to tell Sam what he had done didn't matter? Sam didn't have soul for Pete's sake, and his body was out doing who knows what.

Dean was sick and tired of trying to convince Sam that RoboSam was in no way the Sam that he knew. The Sam he had grown up with. But being Dean he wasn't going to give up any time soon. "Sam, it wasn't your fault. That's the last thing I'm going to say. Let's just drop it for now and concentrate on the case." Sam moved to protest, but Dean silenced him with a look, "I mean it, Sam. Focus on the job, but we will talk about this later." _Even if it means I am convincing you that you without a soul isn't you, _he thought to himself as he pulled up in front of Brenna's house switching from big brother mode to hunter mode, though he was never completely out of big brother mode. He shot Sam a worried glance, "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said rolling his eyes at his older brother. "Let's just help, Brenna. At least that's one thing I can fix."

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. Man, his little brother was just a giant, steaming pile of guilt. Dean knew this wasn't the end of the conversation. Once Sam got a hold of some piece of information pertaining to his year without a soul he would be like a dog with a bone. No matter how much Sam wanted to avoid the subject of his zoning out, and Dean wanted to avoid the subject of memories of Soulless Sam it was going to come up again. Sam's safety was more important than anything that "monster" had done. Sam wasn't Sam without his brain and his soul. And Dean wasn't going to stop trying to convince Sam, not until he realized what Dean already knew.


	3. Face Full of Hell

Chapter 3: Face Full of Hell

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, and all mistakes are mine. No matter how many times I proofread I seem to miss something. Sorry for the wait. I tend not to write my stories in order. If I have an idea for a scene that comes later in the story I write it before I forget it.

The car ride from Brenna's house went just about as well as the car ride there. Though they had in Dean's opinion successfully completed the case, Sam's entire body slumped in defeat. The car was filled with an awkward silence which clung to the sides of the car like condensation to the sides of a glass on a humid day rather than the comfortable silence which covered the car like blanket. In the reflection of the headlights, Dean scrutinized his brother as he pretended to switch the cassette in the player. He knew he had an AC/DC cassette in the box somewhere and the longer it took him to find it the more time he had to try and figure out what Sam was thinking.

He used to be able to read his little brother like a book. Somewhere in the last year and half and a little before, his ability had lessened. Dean didn't count the year he didn't know Sam was alive, but he did count the fact he didn't know his little brother was drinking demon blood. Now, it was as if he was a dyslexic or needed glasses to be able to read. He knew what the information in the book was supposed to say, but it was as if the words were switched around or blurred. In the past, Dean had been able to decipher Sam's thoughts and feelings and what they meant before Sam himself even did. People often said that Dean knew Sam better than Dean knew himself. But after the last couple of years and everything that had happened, Dean wasn't sure if that was true anymore.

Despite Dean's attempt to change the awkward silence to the comfortable silence which he knew, Sam's despondency seemed to grow and add to the awkwardness. It was times like this when Dean wished they could go back in time. That he could heal Sam's guilty heart the way he used to. With a hug and assurance big brother could fix anything. Dean missed the comfortable silences which didn't need to be filled because each brother needed time to himself. They usually involved Sam attempting to sort through a problem on his own while Dean came up with a solution to offer once Sam had given up on his puzzling. The comfortable silence was one of understanding and being apart but together at the same time. This silence, however, was the complete opposite. This silence wanted, no, begged to be filled. This silence meant that while Sam and Dean were physically in the car together, mentally they were a million miles apart. Dean wracked his brain for a way to fill this silence or at least change it. Sam, he knew was sitting in the passenger seat agonizing over all the ways that this hunt went wrong, and how it was all, his fault. Dean also knew that Sam was numbering off all the reasons in which he had failed.

All in all, Dean thought the hunt went as well as could be expected. Sam had had no more moments of zoning out that he knew of, other than when they had first come to town at the bar and the most recent one at the house researching. For Dean, that was a good sign. It meant the wall in Sam's head was holding. But with Sam turning all Sherlock Holmes on his own brain, Dean was worried that Sam would push too hard. Damn Cass for telling Sam what they knew of what he had done while soulless. There was a reason Sam was the researcher of the family. Once he was given just a little bit of information about a situation, he could turn it into a whole hunt complete with a way to kill whatever fugly was doing the damage. As much as Dean wanted to help Sam, he was aware that this time he and his little brother had differing views of what help meant. Sam defined help as aiding in his quest to discover what he had done without a soul. Dean defined it as aiding Sam in leaving well enough alone. Having enough of the crushing silence, Dean decided it was time to break it with more than a cassette. However, the silence was so thick that Dean didn't just break it he shattered it. "You know this wasn't your fault, right?" He stressed again, though he had said it so many times that day he knew he sounded like one of his tapes when some of the tape got stuck.

While Dean had been hoping to start a conversation to get Sam to voice his thoughts rather than keep them bottled up, his query was met with no response. Well, no vocal response. Sam sent a long look across the car that could make paint peel. It said, "What do you mean this isn't my fault? This whole thing was my fault. I killed Roy, because of his need for revenge on me he turned any woman I had "contact" with on my last visit here, I caused Brenna to lose her husband, and now there are even more arachnes out in the world." After holding his brother's gaze for a few moments making sure Dean got every part of his message, Sam sighed both in exasperation at his brother's persistent and his own defeat. He leaned his head against the window and pretended to sleep.

Dean knew his brother was faking, but at least now Sam was putting his energy into ignoring Dean rather than dissecting every thought, every action, and every possible scenario associated with RoboSam. Dean listened to AC/DC's "T.N.T." hoping his brother wasn't going to do an impression of the volatile substance once they returned to the abandoned house where they were squatting. Dean couldn't remember ever wanting to get out of a town more than he wanted to get out of Bristol right now. Thankfully, the abandoned house appeared out of the darkness in headlights of the Impala as the song ended. "Sam, we're here," Dean said shaking his little brother's shoulder as a show of pretending to wake him in an effort to perpetuate the ruse Sam had created.

Since it was still dark out as Dean began disguising the Impala by pulling it into the shrubs behind the house, he decided he and Sam should spend the remainder of the darkness in Bristol getting some sleep, but they would leave at first light. "We'll get some shut eye, but when the sun comes up we're outta here."

Sam said nothing and didn't even spare Dean a glance, only slipped out of the car as quickly as possible almost falling out of the car the minute Dean turned off the engine. Dean shook his head at his little brother, before unloading the gear from the back seat, and replacing it in the trunk. He had his knife and a container of salt. Since they were only spending the night, Dean didn't see the value in taking all the supplies in the house only to have to put them right back as soon as the sun was up.

When he reached the house Sam had already lain down on the rickety bed on one side of the house. Not wanting to make the situation worse, Dean laid down the salt lines before stretching himself out on the sofa in the adjoining room. What was the saying? "Things always looked better in the morning." For Sam's sake Dean hoped it was true. He spared his little brother one last glance before drifting off to sleep. Sam was positioned on his side with his back towards Dean. He was somewhat scrunched due to the fact most companies didn't make Gigantor-sized beds. Dean could tell he wasn't asleep. It was almost as if he could hear the gears turning. "Go to sleep, Sam," he said before closing his eyes.

Dean was awake the second the sunlight peeked through the dilapidated house's boarded up, so-called windows. The first thing he was met with was the smell of coffee, clearly Sam had gone out. Glancing around Dean saw his little brother seated on the bed shoving items into his duffle his gaze focused on the floor not even paying attention to what he was putting in his bag.

"You okay?" As Dean tossed his shaving kit on to the couch he could see guilt and sorrow on his little brother's face. When Sam was hurting it meant Dean was hurting as well though most of the time Dean knew Sam didn't understand why.

Defeat colored Sam's voice and his eyes wouldn't even move to meet Dean's, "You were right. We shouldn't have come back here." Sam paused in both his packing and his monologue, giving Dean time to recognize what was going on. Little brother had that tone in his voice just like he did when he broke one of Dad's cardinal rules. Hunters though they helped people often left destruction and pain in their wake. Despite the fact that he had apologized to Brenna and stopped the thing that was harming innocent people, Sam couldn't seem to reconcile the self he had been with who he was now and had been before. He shook his head and continued packing.

But Dean was bound and determined to not to say "I told you so" and to find a shred of good in this entire mess. Throwing his hands up in the air he said, "Well you did uh…kill spider man."

Dean knew, however, Sam's focus wasn't on the one monster he had stopped, but on the many he had let loose, the ones that he had had a hand in creating, "So, you're suggesting what I did back there was a good thing?"

"I'm just saying… "Dean said with a wave of his hand as though attempting to brush away Sam's guilt.

"What?" Sam asked pausing as he somewhat violently shoved another shirt into his duffle finally turning to face Dean.

"Sam, y-y-you got to understand that all that crap last year—all of it—none of it was you," Dean said using hand gestures to emphasize his point to his little brother. For as smart as Sam was, sometimes he sure was stupid. And stubborn.

Sam huffed, "Let's be crystal clear, okay? It was me." Dean stared at his brother for a moment; confusion etched in his face for the second time that case. Had Sam not heard a word he said? Dean knew there was no way in heck RoboSam was his Sam. His Sam would never kill innocent victims; heck he felt guilty if he killed a bug, and there was a chance he could set it free. RoboSam was soulless; his Sam wasn't. Couldn't Sam see the difference between the two?

Dean raised his eyebrows to show Sam he still didn't agree with Sam's assessment of the situation, but that he wasn't going to push the matter. "Well, can I get you anything?" he asked crossing through the doorway to the next room to begin packing his own duffle.

Sam scoffed and standing dropped his duffle on the bed with a thud, "What are you now, my waitress?"

Dean sat on the couch with a scoff of his own, "I'm just trying to make you feel better. Don't be a bitch." He shook his head at his little brother. All he was trying to do was help. He had gone a year and a half without the Sam he knew, even longer if you counted when Sam went off with Ruby, so Dean was just glad to have Sam back no matter what he had done in the past.

Sam head snapped up his eyes on Dean a slightly confused look on his face. Why would Dean want to make him feel better after all that he had done? Sam deserved to feel guilty. It was his punishment and his penance. When Dean looked up though, Sam's gaze went right back to his clothes.

Dean examined his little brother as Sam continued shoving shirts into his duffle, haphazardly throwing shirts into his own as well. Sam shook his head staring down into his duffle. "Yeah I'm fine," he said with a sigh.

Dean glanced up at Sam, once again shaking his head at his stubborn little brother, turning back to the clothes in his duffle attempting to make them all fit. "Yeah, you look fine. All I'm just saying, everything's gonna be okay," Dean said shoving more shirts into his duffle wondering how all of them had managed to fit in there in the first place.

Dean listened as his brother continued on his guilt trip, "I don't know, Dean." Dean sniffed a shirt before stuffing it in next to the others only half listening. "If I did this here, then who knows how many oth—…" Dean froze dropping the shirt back onto the couch, and moved his eyes over to where his brother had just been standing, but was now convulsing on the floor. At first, Dean didn't know what was happening. Maybe Sam was finally in a good mood and had decided to joke around. Recognizing this was no joke Dean got off the couch faster than he'd ever done anything in his life.

"Sammy," he called already getting off the couch realizing that was the first time he had used the nickname in almost four years and actually meant it, not since he had found out Sam was drinking demon blood. He had used the nickname a handful of times since he had found out that Sam wasn't the Sammy he remembered. Dean remembered the snot-nosed kid that used to follow him around like puppy who turned into a teenager with a case of hero worship; then finally the partner he would give his life for. The moniker became a way for Dean to show his love and trust for Sam and in Sam.

Not getting a response at the nickname made Dean hurry all the more. He had at least expected a surprised huff or something at the use of the name that had not occurred in the heat of a fight against some evil creature intent on killing one of them. Seeing his brother laying on the floor he tried again, "Sammy?" Realizing Sam was gasping like he couldn't get enough air and flailing like he had no control over his limbs, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, Dean held his brother down by the shoulders attempting to keep him from injuring himself. It dawned on Dean Sam was probably remembering hell. "Sammy, talk to me," he said attempting to get his brother to snap out of whatever trance he had lapsed into, when Sam gasped once more and went completely still, his eyes open, unseeing but filled with terror, his mind a million miles away.

Dean could do nothing but watch as Sam went completely still. There was no movement at all. Even Sam's eyes had fallen motionless, staring blankly ahead at something only he could see. It had happened just as everyone said it would: Bobby, Crowley, Cass. Sam was lost inside his mind. The convulsion itself had only lasted a few minutes probably less. The stillness however, seemed to Dean to drag on and on. Though he was sure if he looked at his watch only a few seconds would have passed. As Sam continued to lie on the floor doing what Dean deemed to be an extremely good impersonation of a corpse, he flashed back to that abandoned house in Cold Oak. This was too similar. Sam lay unmoving on the floor of the abandoned house just as he lay on the broken bed in Cold Oak. Twice was two times too many. Sam was always talking, always moving. If his mouth wasn't moving a mile a minute telling Dean about the research he had just unearthed, his fingers were furiously typing away on his laptop's keyboard or paging through some ancient text. Pale, silent, still Sam was not Dean's favorite. It allowed his mind to wonder what life was like without Sam. After this episode or whatever was over, Dean was going to find a way to make sure something like this never had a chance to happen to again.

First things first. Should he call Bobby or not? Bobby would want to know if something was up with Sam, especially something that had to do with being re-souled. However, Dean wasn't sure he was ready to let Bobby know he was right just yet. Plus Bobby still had a hard time being around Sam, since RoboSam had tried to kill him. Dean didn't blame him, but maybe Bobby wasn't the best person to ask for help right now.

Maybe asking Cass for help first would be a good idea. But then again, no, because Cass had been the one to say that by giving Sam his soul back Dean was killing him. Dean didn't know if he was willing to surrender his little brother to someone who thought that Dean would intentionally harm him. This was Dean's problem to handle on his own, and he would with all the flare and strength he possessed. With his GED and Give 'Em Hell attitude.

But then again, Bobby would be able to help Dean with research and be someone to help him double- team Sam when Sam was being what Dean would consider to be unreasonable about his "condition." If that's even what it was. Dean hoped this was just an isolated episode. By Sam's mind letting out a small piece of his year without a soul and what Dean assumed to be a piece of Sam's time in the cage, Sam's wall would hold. Bobby would be able to tell Dean if he was being unreasonable about telling Sam to leave well enough alone. Bobby believed that Dean should have told Sam what he had done during his year without a soul. And Dean had to admit it would have been better for Sam to have heard about what he had done to Bobby and Dean from Bobby or Dean rather than Cass.

But at the same time, Dean would prefer if Sam didn't know any of this because the less Sam knew or the fewer triggers he was around the less likely the wall would be to crack. As Dean had so bluntly told Sam in Bobby's salvage yard, "What you don't know could kill you."

On the other hand, Dean doubted if he should call Bobby. Sam wouldn't want him to. He would feel as though he was intruding on Bobby because he was still feeling guilty over what RoboSam had done. Also Sam would feel as though Dean was betraying him. He would know Dean and Bobby were double-teaming him.

Maybe he could just call Bobby and not tell Sam and not let Bobby tell Sam either. Even though, that had worked so well in the past.

But Bobby had more sources than Dean could even dream of.

Except by not telling Sam, Dean would break the trust that it had taken him over a year to get back. Dean had told Sam he didn't trust him after New York with Zachariah, but by telling Sam Dean was okay with him saying yes to Lucifer and jumping into the pit, he had re-established that sense of trust. If Sam thought Dean was going to Bobby behind his back, that bond of trust would be broken.

Sam trusted Dean and if Dean took Bobby into confidence then that trust would be demolished. It would take even longer to repair the bond; if that was even in the realm of possibility.

Dean didn't want to break Sam's faith in him, but he needed help. They both did.

So Dean made the decision that when Sam awoke, Bristol would be the farthest thing in their rearview mirror. After they had put sufficient distance between them and the things that had caused the wall to crack, Dean would call Bobby. He would say nothing about the seizures. That was Sam's place. Dean would just ask hypothetical questions to get Bobby started on doing some research. Granted, Bobby wasn't stupid; he would probably figure out that Dean was talking about Sam. But if Bobby figured it out on his own Dean wasn't betraying Sam's trust. Not really. Now all he needed was for Sam to wake up.


	4. Love and ?

Chapter 4: Love…

The seconds ticked by like hours. The minutes felt like an eternity. And Dean had been to hell, so he knew what an eternity felt like. Now here was Sam, stuck inside his mind reliving his own eternity.

He lay unconscious on the floor while Dean sat next to him unable to move, himself. Dean didn't want to leave Sam alone, but he needed to get help. _"No,_" he thought. _"I'll stick this out. Sam's gotta wake up."_ Sam eyes had slipped closed after the convulsions had stopped. Dean didn't know what he'd do if Sam didn't wake up. The older brother shook the younger in attempt to wake him, since Sam hadn't responded to his own name. Hands lingered, bunched in his brother's jacket as though he was afraid to let go. It was as though his hands were keeping both Sam and him tethered to reality.

"Sam," he said shaking his brother's limp form again. Dean froze thinking he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Sam," he said eagerly,a smile beginning to form at the thought his brother was going to wake. Dean's eyes roamed up and down Sam's body scanning for even the slightest bit of movement. A twitch, a wiggle, a blink, anything.

Wishing it wasn't just his imagination but knowing deep down it was Dean whispered, stuttering his voice laced with tears shaking his brother once more, in vain, "S-Sam." Fixing his eyes once more at his still unconscious brother, hoping for a sign of movement and not seeing any, Dean's eyes roamed the room vulnerably as though searching for help. _"What do I do?"_ he pleaded silently.

Again this situation seemed eerily similar to Cold Oak: though Bristol, Rhode Island, in late fall was cooler than Cold Oak, South Dakota, in late spring. To Dean, the temperature didn't matter. The only thing that mattered now was figuring out a way to wake Sam up and snap him out of whatever place he had gone or trance he had fallen into. At this point, Dean was open to anything;, he might even sell his soul a second time if he thought that would help. Though, Sam would definitely kill him later for trying.

Dean glanced first at the ceiling, but if God wouldn't help stop the apocalypse why would he help the man who had. Probing the room, for a sign of how to get Sam and himself out of this mess, he prayed to Cass, even though Dean was almost positive the angel would not come. Dean also gazed across the room at his cell phone willing it to come to him, so he wouldn't have to leave Sam. Knowing no one was going to help Sam, but Dean himself, he turned back to his little brother hoping he had miraculously awakened.

Seeing his brother had not, Dean performed the standard check. First, he put his hand to Sam's neck expecting to feel the strong, steady beat against his fingers, but fearing the worst. Sam's pulse was there, thrumming against Dean's hand, though admittedly quicker than usual. Knowing Sam was alive, calmed Dean down some, but his brother was still not moving. Dean's breath still came out in ragged pants, the effort in attempting to keep himself from crying.

He ran his hand through Sam's hair, completely unaware of performing this calming gesture, at this point more for his sake than his little brother's. He wanted the familiar gesture to be the thing that anchored Sam to reality and brought him out the nightmare he was encased in. Without thinking, Dean's hand trailed from Sam's hair down the side of his face. Out of habit, the older brother was checking Sam for a fever as well as trying to wake him. With his hand on Sam's forehead, Dean's eyes unconsciously checked the time on his watch to see just how long they had been on the floor.

Dean studied the limp body so intently, had Sam moved even a centimeter there was no way it could have been missed.

"Oh come on," Dean said shaking Sam more forcefully than he had before causing his brother's body to resemble that of a rag doll.

"Sammy!" Dean screamed feeling the helplessness of Cold Oak beginning to seep through.

He was at a loss of what to do.

He shook Sam once more, this time one-handed as the hand that had been resting on his brother's face was now clenched in a fist on the floor next to Sam's head. "Come on, come on," Dean shook his head looking again like a lost little boy who wanted someone to give him instructions or directions, pleading with anyone or anything in the universe to give him back his brother.

He was even closer to tears.

His little brother was the only one who could make him cry. When their father had died, Sam had cried while Dean had stood stone-faced staring into the flames of the pyre remembering his father's last words. The only other two times in his life other than this moment Dean could remember crying both involved Sam. Sam dying in fact: first in Cold Oak, then in Lawrence.

This mess wasn't going to end with Sam dying, not this time. Although Dean was at a loss of what to do, he would figure something out. He wasn't one to take things lying down; he was resourceful because his father trained him that way. Sam would wake up, and they would go back to hunting. Sam wasn't dying. Not if Dean had anything to say about it. _"That's it," _Dean thought. _"Please work,"_ he begged silently, a look of determination glinting as he fixed his eyes on his brother.

Asking nicely hadn't worked, but there was one more tool in his arsenal: his impression of a John Winchester command. "Come on. Damn it," this command was accompanied by an imperceptible shake of his brother's jacket.

Dean was about to give up hope when Sam's eyes snapped open. A small smile of amazement ghosted Dean's face at the fact the command had pulled Sam out of his nightmare and somewhat comatose state. Sam detested orders, but when Dean or Dad gave an order in a worried tone, Sam was awake almost instantly. Dean almost collapsed with relief. Sam wasn't a vegetable; he was awake. No more, mind speculating what life would be like without his little brother. Sam was here; he was alive, awake, and safe. Dean hadn't failed at his job to keep his brother out of trouble. He hadn't made the wrong decision in asking Death to restore Sam's soul. Who cared what everyone else said? It was Dean and Sam against the world. Everything was going to be alright.

Dean's relief didn't last long because even though Sam's eyes were open again, they remained unseeing for a few seconds. Those few seconds were the longest of Dean's life. Examining Sam's eyes for recognition, Dean could swear he saw the vestiges of a flame reflected in their depths. When he looked closer, however, the flames were gone and only hazel met green.

Dean searched Sam's face for a sign that he knew where he was. Heck Dean didn't care if Sam remembered where he was as long as he remembered his brother.

Sam stayed stationary except for a pained groan and sharp exhale that escaped his lips. His eyes lingered on the ceiling staring intently as though attempting to figure out what it was and where he was. Dean stuck to his side equally intent, still allowing Sam some time to work through his predicament on his own, regardless that what he really wanted to do was scoop his little brother into a hug.

Sam's eyes searched the room frantically after his mind established the fact he and the room were indeed both motionless. His older brother watched closely unsure of whether or not to intervene. Sam looked lost and confused, so Dean did the only thing he knew to fix it.

First, he put himself directly in Sam's line of sight; then he shook Sam to bring him back to reality. Little brother's eyes roamed a few seconds more until they fixated on the one constant in his life. Sam blinked once more to clear his vision and officially get his bearings before focusing on Dean imploring him to explain why he looked so worried and was hovering.

Dean figured for now, he could forgo an explanation, wanting more than ever to know if Sam was the Sam he knew and loved or if the crack had caused some damage to Sam's personality or intelligence. He gazed intently into Sam's eyes making sure his brother was focused on him before he continued, anxiousness bleeding through his calm exterior. "Hey, hey, hey. You with me?" he asked hoping against hope the answer would be yes.

As Sam took more and more time to respond Dean began to get worried. What if something really had happened when Sam remembered, and everything was more scrambled than before? What if Dean and everything else Sam knew had become like some kind of secret code. Plus, Sam's eyes had yet to settle on his older brother's face.

Sam paused in his searching of the room, eyes finally locking on Dean. And though his little brother nodded, in what Dean assumed to be an attempt to reassure them both Sam was back.

Despite the confirmation of the nod, it was as if Sam had only heard part of Dean's question and wasn't quite sure what he was agreeing to. Dean watched his brother's face hoping Sam would say something to accompany the nod. A hand gripped the older brother's wrist in what seemed to be Sam's attempt at striving to ground himself in reality and assure himself he was no longer trapped in his mind.

Dean placed his hand on his little brother's chest both in an effort to reassure himself that Sam was indeed back with him as well as to ground Sam. The other hand which had previously been a clenched fist now rested calmly on the floor.

Instead, the questioning face was met with a second nod. At least this one seemed more coherent. Even though this nod was not accompanied by words as Dean would have liked, Sam managed a sigh and a groan. Though he had stopped searching the room, Sam still blinked over and over as though trying to clear his vision and get his bearings.

As much as Dean wanted to ask if there is anything he could do to help, he kept his mouth shut. He needed to know how much of Sam was Sam without help. If Sam had somehow switched back to RoboSam, Dean needed to be on his utmost guard. Despite the fact, it killed him to watch Sam struggle to puzzle through all the confusion, which Dean assumed there is a lot of due to dazed look on Sam's face. Little brother needed to ground himself and come back to reality on his own while Dean worried about other things like Sam's breathing, listening to the harsh pants which accompanied the darting eyes. His little brother panted as though he just ran a marathon. With all the thrashing, Dean took a guess it probably felt like he did.

Sam's eyes locked on Dean for another split second finally filling with recognition. He then went back to staring at the ceiling trying to figure out why he was still on the floor if his older brother was right next to him. Though Dean could see Sam still didn't know exactly where he was and what's going on his eyes were filled with trust in Dean.

Not taking time to relish in the complete faith his little brother had in him, Dean placed one hand on Sam's shoulder and the other on his lapel to haul his brother to his feet, eyes clouded with fear and an anxiousness to get his brother out of this place before it triggered another episode. Terror and worry colored his voice as Dean gripped Sam in an effort to pull him into a sitting position, "Come on. Come on, we gotta get you the hell out of here."

Dean hardened himself against Sam's grimace and grunt of pain. The grip tightened on Dean's wrist as though grounding himself as well trying to help get to his feet. By allowing Sam to inflict pain on him, Dean was pretty sure he'd have a nice bruise on his wrist later, but he was aiding his little brother in putting a block on the killer migraine and sore limbs he had to be feeling at the moment. While Sam focused on keeping himself in the here and now and coherent, Dean's only focus now was getting away from anything that would trigger an episode. He didn't want to take any chances.

With a look of determination in his eyes, Dean dragged his brother to his feet. He ignored Sam's grunts of pain focused solely on the task of getting to the car. Sam stumbled, his eyes darting from the floor to Dean to their bags, his eyes asking, _"What about them?"_

Dean silently told him, he would come back for them and continued moving, half dragging/half carrying Sam, for all the help he was providing. Sam for his part didn't complain at the rough treatment, though Dean was fairly sure his little brother was still disoriented. Dean didn't stop until Sam was securely positioned in the passenger seat of the Impala. He hovered a moment making sure Sam isn't going to freak out or zone out.

Then probably the quickest he'd moved in his entire life, Dean snatched up Sam's backpack and duffle. Pausing a second at the trunk, he tilted his head around it to check on Sam without his knowledge. In typical little brother fashion, he'd been in the car less than a minute and already he was asleep. Dean hurried back into the house scooping up his duffle and the clothes that had fallen from it in his haste to reach Sam. His duffle joined his brother's in the trunk, and Dean made one last sweep of the house checking for missing items or anything that could implicate them in what had just happened.

Seeing nothing, he raced back to the car and his brother eager to get out of this town. Not only did it give him the creeps, but now, it held bad memories. At this point, Dean didn't care where they ended up as long as it was far away from Bristol, Rhode Island.

He glanced once at his sleeping brother before his foot pressed to the floor making Bristol a speck in the rearview mirror.

Dean drove in silence, his nerves dancing like the flames of a newly started fire, jumping and popping with no particular purpose. Listening to music would calm his nerves, but he didn't want to wake Sam. Now that the kid was resting peacefully, it was important he stay that way. Which left Dean alone with the silence and his thoughts.

He was still trying to process exactly what had happened on this hunt and later at the abandoned house. He knew Sam was remembering: both his soulless year and Dean guessed his time in Hell. How had this happened? Death had put up the Great Wall of Sam inside his head to prevent this. But if Dean knew his little brother, and he did, Sam would treat the wall like most other obstacles in his life. He would find a way to get around, under, over, or through it. If Sam Winchester was on a quest, whether it be for knowledge, a hunt, or "normal," he would find a way to reach his goal everything and everyone else be damned.

So now, Dean had established how it had happened. Sam in his quest for answers had tested the wall and pushed too hard causing a crack. But how had Dean let this happen? He was the big brother: caregiver, authoritarian, protector. He should have been able to keep Sam away from the wall despite the Winchester stubbornness. He should have been able to tell Sam, "No leave it alone. It will hurt you." The same way he had taught a young Sam to leave the stove alone when staying in a motel or at Bobby's.

But then again who was he to control Sam. Sam was twenty-nine-years-old. He could take care of himself and should be allowed to. Sam could and should make his own choices. Dean wasn't his brother's keeper, as much as he believed himself to be. Sam should have made the choice to leave the wall alone. He was now hurting because of the choices he made.

Dean's thoughts again shifted the blame. It was like feeling a ping pong match inside his own head, "It's all my fault. If only I had been paying closer attention, I would have realized he was scratching at the wall. I should have been more forceful in telling Sam to leave well enough alone. If I had this wouldn't have happened."

But again, Sam had a mind of his own. And he never was one to submit to authority. The more Dean or any authority figure pushed, the more Sam tended to push back. Dean glanced again at his sleeping brother. Sam was essentially curled up in a ball against the window. After all that had happened over the last years and six feet four inches later, Sam still looked about five or six when he slept.

Despite the fact, Dean believed the whole this whole issue could be traced back to himself; he also felt Cass was somewhat to blame. The angel had taken away the confidence that Dean had done the right thing. Though Cass had said something bad might happen he hadn't specified it could be this bad. Oh, well. What was done was done. Nothing could be done about the past. All that was left to do was fix the future. Deal with the situation as it was and help Sam deal as well.

The miles clicked away, and Sam continued to sleep. The gears were turning in Dean's head as he waited for his brother to wake. Little brother shifted and sighed turning his head toward older brother. Dean smiled surprised at the calm and content in which Sam was sleeping. Normally, he was plagued by nightmares. It was strange he didn't have any issues sleeping especially after what had just happened. Maybe exhaustion extended from the body to the mind as well. Or maybe letting those few memories out was like triggering a release valve. While at least Sam was getting some peace, the gears in Dean's mind continued to turn in tandem with the tires of the Impala.

He was pulled out of his reverie by a groan coming from the passenger seat. He pulled over to the side of the road in anticipation of Sam's awakening. As expected, the first thing he did was turn to Dean in a daze.

Sam recognized the interior of the car but couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. He vaguely remembered at some point walking to the car, but that could have been today or a week ago. He wasn't really sure. His head was pounding as though a high school pep band or a blacksmith's apprentice had taken up residence for practice in his head. Maybe both. Had he gotten a concussion? Had they been hunting?

Dean concentrated only on Sam's face as it flooded with confusion. He could almost physically see the wheels spinning and spinning but going nowhere like a car stuck in the mud. Finally, there was traction. Sam remembered what had just happened. He still didn't recall getting into the Impala, but he did remember fire and ice. A burning, freezing sensation. He couldn't recollect what had happened immediately before the incident though he tried. He recalled the burning and the next thing he connected to was Dean. "How long was I out?" he asked the question swirling in his mind.

Dean though he had been anticipating his brother's return to consciousness was startled by the question. He thought for a moment. Did he answer this question honestly or did he lie? Did he really even know how long it had been? To him it had felt like hours, but in reality, deep down he knew it had been minutes. "Three minutes, tops."

"That's all?" the shock on Sam's face and in his voice was unmistakable.

"That's all," Dean confirmed never thinking to ask how long it had been for his little brother.

"Oh, okay," Sam said succumbing to silence after asking, "Hey can we get some food?"

"Yeah, no problem. What are you hungry for?" Now, hunger was a fixable problem. One that could be dealt with quickly and effectively.

Sam thought for a moment before responding, "I don't care." He didn't want to give Dean any hints as to what he had seen, his older brother had enough to deal with. "Wherever we stop is fine. I just need some food. But if you want to keep driving for a bit you can 'cause I have a killer headache, so I think I'm just gonna go back to sleep," Sam signaled the end to the conversation.

As he curled himself back up against the window, Dean reached over and pulled the handle of the glove box keeping one hand on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road. They had pulled back onto the road after making sure Sam was coherent. "There should be some Tylenol in there to hold you over until we can stop and get you checked over and maybe get some of the good stuff."

"Don't need a doctor Dean," Sam mumbled around the pills as he dry swallowed the Tylenol, "just food."

Dean let him drift back off, but not before saying, "Sure you don't Sammy, but you're going to anyway. 'Cause you were just laying there. You have no idea how much you scared me little brother." He drove on in silence keeping an eye out for rest stops or food close to the highway. He was confident Sam would sleep for quite a while longer but wanted to be prepared just in case.

Dean could think of only one other thing that would prepare him for when Sammy woke again, and that was a phone call. Not necessary a phone call he wanted to make, but one he felt he had to make, one he needed to make if not for Sam, for himself.

Making sure Sam was completely asleep, _He's out harder than one of those ghosts we salt and burn_, he pulled out his cell phone dialing the number he had had memorized since the age of five. His eyes never left the road as his fingers ghosted over the keys in a practiced manner. Sparing a glance from the road to his sleeping Sasquatch, Dean marveled at how young and peaceful Sam looked when he slept. After all the shit they'd been through, Sam still looked all of four-years-old when he slept curled up against the window as though trying to protect himself from something. Now, however, the curling was as much for necessity and comfort as for safety. Sam could no longer fit in most regular sized motel beds, and he tended to go almost completely limp when he wasn't plagued by nightmares of the horrible things they'd seen.

Satisfied his little brother was as content as he could be at the present moment, Dean listened to the ringing on the end of the line. His fingers tapped the steering wheel mentally counting the number of rings until he heard the tell-tale click signaling someone was now on the other end. "Bobby?" he asked tentatively, making sure he wasn't going to spill his guts to a total stranger.

There was moment of silence before a gruff voice answered, "Hello?"

"Bobby it's Dean."

"Well, of course I know it's you, ya idjit. What's the matter?" Bobby knew the boys usually only called him when they needed something or something had gone wrong. And Dean knew he knew.

"We've got a problem," Dean said figuring to come right out with it. "Remember how we thought everything was all good? Well, it's not."

Bobby was lost in the disarray that was Dean Winchester's thoughts, navigating that boy's mind was like navigating a forest with no trail. Not to mention the young man was frantically whispering rather than talking in his normal baritone, "Slow down and start over, boy. What in the name of God's green earth are you talking about?"

Dean sighed exasperated. He wanted to finish this conversation before his brother woke, and Bobby just wasn't getting it, "I'm talking about Sammy, Bobby. He says he's fine, but he's not."

"Dean, I'm still not following what the hell you're talking about," Bobby was getting just about as exasperated on his end. Why couldn't Dean just come out and say what he wanted or needed? It was like playing Ring-Around-the-Rosy.

"Damn it, Bobby," Dean burst out shattering his attempt at quiet, glancing over at Sam to make sure his outburst hadn't disturbed his little brother's slumber. "I'm talking about Sam. He had a seizure, which I'm pretty sure was caused by memories, and I don't know what to do. How do I fix it or stop it? It was the panic room all over again."

"Why you asking me, ya idjit? Do I look like a doctor to you, boy?" Bobby wondered why the elder Winchester brother had called him instead of taking Sam to a hospital. Granted hell seizures weren't quite the same as regular ones, but there had to be some similarities, right?

"No," Dean said taking a slight pause as though actually considering this thought before he continued once again in down to a whisper, "but you always seem to have all the answers. You're like a friggin' guru. You have a library in your head and in your house."

While Bobby was flattered by the young man's faith in him, he was unsure of what Dean wanted or needed exactly. "I don't know what to tell you, Dean," he answered honestly. "Other than that you need to take your brother to a clinic to make sure that memory didn't knock any other screws loose. In the mean time, just stick close to your brother, ya idjit," he said knowing Dean would have no problem following that order. "I'll see what I can dig up. How's he doin' now?" Bobby asked showing genuine concern and love that he had grown to have for the Winchesters over the years.

"He's sleeping for now. Said he had a massive headache and that was about it. But I don't know, Bobby. I just don't know," Bobby cringed at the defeat he heard in Dean's voice. "What if this happens again?"

"We'll get through this we always do. Right now, just be there for him, Dean. That's all you can do," Bobby said hoping to foster some reassurance. "And I'll call you back when I find something."

"Thanks," Dean said sighing as he heard the click signaling the end of the call. He glanced again at the slumbering giant in the passenger seat making sure he was still down for the count and hadn't heard any of the call. _What do we do? _he thought. _How do I fix this?_

Their lives were so messed up and hectic that Dean figured he should be used to this by now. It was that law…what was it? Murphy's law. Man, that Murphy guy must have been some sort of distant relative. _Probably from the Campbell side_ Dean thought as he remembered the few members of his mom's family he had the not-pleasure to make acquaintances with. Because Winchester/Campbell luck, sure followed that guy's law. Anything that could go wrong would go wrong. And boy were things going wrong now. _But with everything that's ever gone wrong in our lives you'd think we should be used to it by now,_ Dean mulled. _We should know now to never expect anything good to last._

The amount of chaos caused by this situation would be just another hurdle to jump over in the Winchester brother obstacle course of life. They would deal with this the same way they dealt with everything else. Piece by piece. Step by step. One day at a time. They would figure this out, together, just like always. In a steady and familiar rhythm, the miles passed under the tires leaving Dean alone with only the sounds of the road and his thoughts to keep him company as Sam slept on.


	5. A Lecture

**Author's Note: Sorry been mostly beta'ing instead of working on my own stuff. But for your wait, here is a double helping of "Better Than I Know Myself." Chapter four has been reposted due to some mistakes I found when re-reading and chapter five as well which as you can see evidenced by the title is a continuation of chapter four. They were going to be one chapter, but it was getting to long and taking me too long to write so I split them up. Hope you are enjoying this story so far. I know it is mostly expansion of the episodes, but I felt I needed a baseline before throwing new stuff at you. The next chapter will be tying up some loose ends but will be almost entirely original material. Also it should be up faster as I am getting into some of the scenes I have pre-written. As I explained in an earlier chapter, I do not write my stories in order. If a scene comes to me, I write it. Oh, and if you are enjoying the story feel free to let me know, or leave constructive criticism.**

**AN: I do all my own editing. Feel free to point out any errors, but please do so kindly. Constructive criticism is helpful; cruel criticism is mean. **

**Enough of my rambling, Chapter five everyone. **

Chapter 5: …And a Lecture

Dean left a Sasquatch-sized lump still asleep in the car as he pulled into a rest area in Hartford, Connecticut. They had been driving for two hours, and Dean needed a break plus they both needed some food. He needed to use the bathroom but wasn't entirely comfortable leaving a post-seizure little brother alone. However, the call of nature couldn't wait, so he sighed and locked the Impala's doors. Sam couldn't go very far in the time it took to use the restroom could he?

Hurrying faster than usual, Dean returned to see Sam outside and leaning against the car. The car looked to be holding his little brother up as much as Sam was holding himself up.

"I'm going over to that food trailer to get breakfast," Dean said pointing. "You stay right here and don't move. I mean it Sam."

"Dude, I'm not five," little brother mumbled around a grimace of discomfort.

That way Sam said his statement did nothing to quell the anxiety. Dean kept an eye on Sam as he made his way to the food trailer.

What could possibly be going on in Sam's head right now? He had just had a major crack in the wall, and for the short time he was awake in the car all he had done was tell Dean he was fine and nothing had happened. Was Dean supposed to believe that? He knew Sam better than he knew himself, and he could tell Sam was in pain. But deciding to trust Sam and leave him to his own devices Dean had went to get food still watching out of the corner of his eye. Little brother may think he was alone; Dean always gave Sam time to sort things out on his own, but was never too far away if things went south.

Dean tore his attention away from Sam for a moment to take in his surroundings noticing park benches and a stadium looking thing. He heard his stomach growl and realized that for as hungry as he was Sam was probably just as hungry if not hungrier from sleeping so much. His eyes moved from his surroundings; though his ears stayed opened as he perused the menu. Donuts, muffins, and wraps offered food choices and coffee, soft drinks, and juices offered beverage choices.

Sam glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye, as he sat on the edge of the car his mind running over what Dean had told him had happened. He didn't remember much, just the burning sensation then waking up in the abandoned house. His eyes watered at the memory while a spike of pain ran through his skull as though he had a major concussion. He pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his face hoping he looked like he was thinking hard rather than in pain.

Maybe he should have taken Dean up on his offer to stop and see a doctor. Sam opened his hand blocking his eyes from the emerging sunlight, groaning and lightly blinking in an attempt to lessen the effects of the rays. No, he would just hide the pain from Dean. If Dean knew how much he was hurting, Sam would be in an ER before he even had time to blink. No, he could handle this himself. Squinting his eyes to block out most of the sun, Sam once again pinched the bridge of his nose and opened and elongated his mouth in an effort to spend out and alleviate the pain. This staved the pain off for awhile. Sam blinked a few times trying his damnedest to keep the pain at bay.

Sam looked pretty wiped out from his ordeal so Dean decided to treat him with a grande coffee and apple muffin. Normally he would just get donuts and make Sam suffer, but in an effort to make his little brother feel at ease and comfortable, Dean chose a more Sam friendly breakfast along with the donut and coffee special for himself. Dean ordered, once again checking on Sam making sure that he hadn't left the vicinity of the car. Sam was still leaning against the hood pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his temples.

As the server handed Dean the bag of food and the cup holder of coffee, the gentleman attempted to help keep the purchases together. "Do you got it?" he asked kindly.

Dean replied, "I got it," bundling his purchases so he could hold them all. He just needed to get back to his brother. He noticed the concern in server's eyes and followed his gaze to Sam. Dean offered up a glare telling the server to mind his own business. The server though he would probably never admit, few people would, was a little scared of Dean. He looked down at the counter and resumed wiping it off as he had been before the customer arrived, continuing to keep a concerned eye trained on the two young men.

Dean, for his part, brushed off the server but not the concern the man had shown. He himself was concerned for his little brother. With a quick double check of their food order, Dean hurried back toward his brother but tried to make it look like he wasn't hurrying. However, the concern and anxiety radiated through every part of his body from the knots in his stomach to lines on his face and his eyes narrowed in worry. How were they going to deal with this seizure problem?

Though Bobby had given him advice, Dean was unsure of what to do. Taking care of Sam was his job, and he wanted to make sure that everything was perfect. This seizure thing was taking a lot out of Sam, and Dean wanted to help his little brother in any way he possibly could. So for now he would hide his worry, bury it deep down with the rest of the emotions he usually didn't let anyone see, and Sam would be none the wiser. Given time, he would probably figure it out anyway him being Sam and all.

Noticing Dean returning to the car, Sam pulled his hand away from his face, so Dean wouldn't be able to see the amount of pain this recent episode had caused. That would mean doctor for sure and Sam didn't want any doctors. What could they do anyway? Why did Dean think he could fix everything?

Sam adjusted and readjusted his face scrunching his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the pain pounding in his skull, his brain a jackhammer against the concrete walls inside his head.

Dean slowed his approach to see if the gesture would stop. In an attempt to buy himself some time, Dean looked down into the coffee to school his features, even so, concern radiated from his narrowed eyes. It was the type of anxiety only Sam could see and no one else. But the elder Winchester made sure he was still far enough away so the younger couldn't see the reaction. He preferred not to have another encounter like the one at the food trailer, even if it was just his little brother.

As Dean approached, the more intense and apparent the pain became, in spite of little brother's attempt to brush it off as blinking away something stuck in his eye or blocking out the bright morning sun. He could see Sam was in pain yet would never admit it not wanting to burden his older brother with something he believed to be his problem.

The closer Dean came; however, he heard his brother blow a hard breath through his teeth. He watched as Sam's cheeks puffed out, and his little brother heaved a hard sigh of frustration. The sigh struck a cord with Dean. He wished he could take all this pain away. Wished he could just make it stop whatever it was. Sometimes, he wondered what would have happened if he had just left well enough alone. Not just with Sam's soul but with everything he had caused to change from the moment he arrived at Stanford looking for Dad.

Sam dug his hands into his pockets in an effort to ignore the pain. He stared at the ground as if willing the pain away. His face still scrunched and eyes squinted against what Dean imagined was something that probably felt or like music from one of Dean's Metallica tapes. He almost chuckled to himself, but the worry won out. Sam was in a lot of hurt, and he was pretending hard that nothing was wrong and nothing had happened.

But, big brother could see right through the façade, "How you feel?"

Sam started at Dean's approach. He quickly schooled his features to mask the pain from Dean. He didn't want his older brother to know it felt like he had been run over by a truck six million times in the last hour. If he did, there was no telling how long Dean would keep him out of the hunt. So instead he just glared, gave Dean the look his brother had seen a million times before, post vision. The look that said through sarcastic eyes, "Dude, my head hurts. How do you think I feel?" This way Dean would have to judge for himself just how he thought his little brother was feeling.

What made the older Winchester nervous was the time Sam took to respond with more than just a glare. Normally, Sam would have snapped at Dean almost to the point of biting his head off for asking such a stupid question.

Now, his little brother just looked confused. Sam paused for a few seconds like he couldn't think of a good retort. It was as though he has forgotten the words or couldn't seem to find the right ones. His mouth hanged slightly opened as if by opening his mouth forming words they would magically appear.

Dean was unsure of how to respond to the pause. He didn't know whether or not he should intervene and tell Sam exactly how his little brother is feeling, even though Sam hadn't said a word. Because his older brother instincts had kicked in, and so he knew without asking exactly how much discomfort, pain, and probably agony his brother was feeling.

Sam, however, had found the words he was looking for. He grabbed a cup of coffee from the holder in Dean's hand in an effort to avoid his brother's penetrating gaze. He knew he probably looked guilty, and his eyes were still a bit squinted due to the throbbing in his head. Concentrating on the coffee also helped the words to come. "Like I got hit by a…" he began then stopped, again searching for a word large enough to describe the immensity of what the inside of his skull felt like.

Dean watched anxiously awaiting his brother's response. This had to be a side effect of the seizure. Sam never took this long to answer a question. Especially not the question, "How do you feel?" "How do you feel?" in Winchester speak usually translated to a quickly brushed over, "I'm fine." It didn't mean waiting endless seconds to find out exactly what your brother thought he had been hit by. Hit by what? A truck? A Vampire? A Wendigo? Dean attempted to fill in the blank while studying his brother to pin the correct word on what he was feeling. The older brother was definitely leaning more toward the feeling of something equal to agony. That pinched look on Sam's face was reminiscent of the post-vision or post-exorcism migraines. Which meant it was the type of hurt Dean could handle. His hand snaked to his pocket as Sam finally found the right word.

Sam sighed and finished his sentence, taking a drink of his coffee, "Planet."

Dean took a moment to contemplate whether or not to broach the subject plaguing his mind with his brother before or after breakfast. He peeked down at the white cap in his hand, deciding between the lecture he needed to have or the coffee he wanted to have.

Sam glanced at what Dean was holding in the hand that had previously held the food. Now, it looked as though his brother was holding a pill bottle in one hand and the food and coffee in the other with a newspaper tucked under his arm. No doubt for searching for the next job. Knowing Dean would bring up whatever he was thinking about, probably Sam's seizure, when he felt it was time, Sam continued to sip his coffee and leave Dean at war with himself.

Older brother instincts winning out, he settled on lecture first, food second. Sam needed to know just how he had scared the living snot out of his older brother. And Dean had to make sure little brother knew something like what had happened back in Bristol shouldn't ever happen again. So with a slight smile and a small sigh he began, "Well…lucky for you…"he made to grab his own coffee giving Sam a better look at what appeared to be a pill bottle lid, "I'm a doctor."

Dean's smile became bigger as he set the coffee and food on the hood of the Impala next to Sam, forgoing his own caffeine needs for the moment to make sure his brother heard him loud and clear. He viewed each item in turn making sure Sam's eyes were following his own, leaving the most controversial item for last. "I got joe, grub, and…" he trailed off, pursing his lips waiting for Sam's reaction as Dean held up and shook the small, clear container.

Sam backed away slightly, eyes darting from his brother to the proffered pills, distrustful of the container. It had no label, but he could plainly see it was a standard pill bottle filled with small white tablets similar to Ibuprofen. Though knowing Dean, these pills were anything but standard issue Ibuprofen. Sam knew his older brother too well. The container had no label which meant that Dean probably hadn't obtained it through the proper channels.

Sam was unsure as to why Dean was offering the pills. He knew Sam was incredibly health conscious and careful with his body. After having no soul, meaning essentially a stranger had been in his body for the last six months doing who knows what to it, he had no desire to add another unknown substance just to please his older brother. On the other hand, if Dean was willing to tell Sam exactly what he was dosing his little brother up with and what it was supposed to help with Sam would be more than willing.

After listening to his brother's explanation of what would supposedly make him better: joe, food, and the unknown substance, Sam continued to eye the pill bottle suspiciously, as if, if he took his eyes off of it the bottle would jump up and attack him. More likely, however, was the possibility that his brother would take his silence as acquiescence and force feed him the pills. In an attempt to head Dean off, giving one last wary look to the pills and their dubious container, Sam turned skeptical eyes on his brother. "What are they?" he asked.

The smile/smirk faded from Dean's face once he saw the distrust in Sam's eyes. The playful look was replaced by the most serious face he could make. Though Dean knew exactly what the pills were, that didn't matter to him and shouldn't matter to Sam as long as they had the ability to stop or prevent or help with whatever the heck Sam was dealing with inside that Cro-Magnon skull of his. Who knew what kind of gunk and crap was floating around in there with all Lucifer had done to him and all RoboSam had done with his body. Dean just wanted the whole mess to be over. So he held out his hand with a nod, willing his little brother to just take the pills no questions asked. "Effective," Dean answered his hand even closer to his brother as a silent plea or order to take the bottle.

Sam cast a stunned, slightly appalled look at his brother backing even further away from the offending bottle. He had no doubt in his mind that his brother would definitely force feed him the pills if he deemed it necessary. But Sam still couldn't believe what Dean was doing, asking him to take an unknown substance just because it _might_ help. Dean knew how Sam felt about medication in general, so what was the big deal now. This was no different than the time he had seen Max and performed telekinesis, no different than the time he had exorcised Samhain, how could Tylenol not be just as effective as it had been in those circumstances. Well, Tylenol hadn't been that effective, but who's to say just because this pain felt as bad as those incidents it couldn't be treated with over the counter medication. And if it was as bad, he still had some migraine medication lying around somewhere in the Impala or the first aid kit.

Appall gave way to genuine protest as Sam shook his head declining his brother's offer. Instead of arguing with Dean creating a scene in the midst of a mass of people, he decided to file the discussion he was dying to have with his brother away for another day simply raising his cup of coffee in protest to the meds, eying them once more with distain, suspicion, and disgust. "I'm okay. Thanks," he said gripping his coffee cup tighter, as though to prove to Dean caffeine was a better form of medicine.

Sam knew he had disappointed his brother by refusing the medication. His older brother was only trying to help in his own twisted way. Sam nodded to reassure his brother he was not mad at him and he was indeed okay as previously stated. Sam was trying to prove he was okay to himself as much as Dean and taking the pills from his older brother would only solidify that things including the younger Winchester were in no way, shape, or form okay. As much as Sam wanted to believe he was okay, the glimpse of what he had done only paved the way for his brain to travel down all the pathways of what he might have done.

"Suit yourself," Dean said shaking his head and replacing the pills back in his pocket. Listening to Sam exhale sharply, something that seemed to hover between a huff of indigence at his older brother's antics and grunt of pain or sigh of relief that Dean hadn't made him take the pills as much as he wanted to, Dean resisted the urge to renege and shove the pills down Sam's throat, skepticism be damned. He couldn't believe the stubbornness of his little brother. Hadn't he learned yet? Big brother knew best. The pills would stop the pain and hopefully stop whatever Sam had seen and keep him from searching for more. Sam would probably want the pills later, and when he did Dean would be at the ready with an "I told you so" and the pill bottle handily in his jacket pocket.

Sam folded over in relief at not having to take the pills or be fed them, though he wouldn't put it past Dean to crush some of them up in his breakfast if that was a possibility. His eyes returned to the coffee cup staring into the little slit at the dark liquid as if it held all the answers. His gaze moved from the coffee only to look straight ahead at the families headed to breakfast or back to their cars, following his brother's movements out of the corner of his eye.

He debated on asking his next question. With Dean's reaction to the pills, this next question might just have him force feeding medication to his younger brother. And Sam was not entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer. He knew what it had felt like to him but had no idea how that related to actual time. After all, in hell, four months was 40 years and his stint- well…that had to be well over a hundred and change. Finally, returning one eye to his coffee cup and the other to his brother he asked, "So, how long was I out, again?" The words came out quickly tumbling over each other like toddlers racing to get the last cookie. Sam didn't want to give his older brother any time to process that he'd probably asked the question three or four times already since leaving Bristol. He just needed the answer, though he wasn't quite so sure if he wanted it anymore.

Dean shook his head, which made Sam aware he wasn't going to like the answer. He wasn't sure whether Dean was shaking his head at the fact that he was again telling Sam this information or the fact that Sam was asking the question at all.

Dean, however, was shaking his head at the fact with all they had been through with demon blood, Castiel, Lucifer, Lillith, all the people they had lost, and two trips to hell, that right now the largest obstacle he had to deal with right now was six foot four of geeky little brother. And Dean was still attempting to wrap his mind around the fact Sam had had a seizure.

The older brother's eyes darkened, as his mind traveled first back the abandoned house in Bristol then back to Bobby's panic room. Was this going to be their life now? Sam seeing snatches of hell while Dean tried to prevent the damage. He had had his own stint in hell; he knew what nightmarish things could lay behind that wall for Sam to discover. Dean didn't want to fill in the blanks, but it was better than his little brother trying to root the answers out for himself. What he couldn't figure out was why Sam was asking him again. Hadn't they already gone over this in the car? Did Sam not remember asking? Dean pushed the thought aside chalking it up to Sam being too tired to remember rather than a side effect of the seizure.

Seeing his brother waiting expectantly for an answer he replied, "I'm telling you, like two or three minutes." He left out the fact to him it had felt like hours sitting on that cold, hard floor next to his unmoving brother.

Sam huffed in confusion, and now Dean was curious exactly what the time difference was between Sam's head and real world. Concern again crept into his gaze seeing Sam struggling through the hurt of whatever that seizure had done to his head. It had been hours since the incident; why was his little brother still so disoriented? Could it be similar to a concussion? "Why, what'd it feel like to you?" he asked curiosity overruling concern for the moment.

Sam had again turned away from Dean as if by avoiding his brother's gaze he could avoid the question as well. "About a week," he rushed, facing Dean to gauge his brother's reaction, eyes still turned slightly toward the ground, so as not to see Dean's disappoint residing there. Not hearing or a reaction, Sam glanced up in confusion, knowing he might as well give his brother all the information. With a sigh he continued, "Give or take." Sam was frustrated that he could not assign a direct amount of time to how long he had been under, but then he realized neither could Dean, and his brother had been anchored in the real world.

Dean took a deep breath, resolving to do something he never wanted to in an effort to help his brother. He was going to instigate a talk. A deep down heart to heart conversation. He was going to delve into his memories of hell, a place he never wanted to go again even if someone paid him millions of dollars, to aid Sam in dealing with the pain and confusion no doubt rolling around in his mind. Not wanting to see Sam's face at his older brother's willingness to talk, Dean took a seat on the Impala striving to see what his little brother was watching while he avoided Dean's gaze. It was now or never.

He wasn't going to wait for his brother to muddle through everything on his own. Dean had gotten Sam into this mess by letting Death put Sam's soul back in, so older brother was going to get him out of it. Or at least help him deal. _Ready or not, _Dean thought before saying the dreaded words, "You want to talk about it?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up over incredulous eyes filled with skepticism. Dean knew that look. He had seen it many times before, pretty much anytime he was the one to instigate a heartfelt conversation. It was a look that said, "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?" Sam seemed like he wanted to say something so Dean waited.

Sam was shocked at the fact his brother wanted to talk. Especially about Hell, except that Dean didn't know that's what Sam had seen yet. Talk him out of finding out what he did was more like it. But it was like he had told Dean back at Bobby's, he had to fix what he had to fix, make right what he could, and try to apologize for the things he couldn't. So there was nothing left to do but play dumb. Nothing bad had come from the memories of Bristol other than the death of Roy and the escape of the Arachnes, but those were things to be repaired. The archnes were something to be hunted, be fixed now that Sam knew. But if his Dean figured out his little brother was experiencing memories of hell, he would put a stop to the digging, and Sam wouldn't be able to repair any of the damage he'd done. So he decided to play the dumb little brother and pretend he didn't remember a thing. The less Dean knew the better. Sam met his brother's eyes frowning then pulled a straight face. "'It'?" he asked in a tone which said, "I clearly have no idea what you are talking about." Even though, he actually knew exactly what Dean was referring to.

Dean examined Sam's face, seeing right through the dumb little brother act and returned his brother's skeptical gaze with one of his own. Sam had lied and tried to lie too many times for Dean not to have become an almost human lie detector. He gave his head a slight shake before turning his penetrating look back on Sam. He figured the longer he stared the more likely his little brother would be to cave. Dean knew the younger Winchester knew exactly what had been referred to when he had been asked about "it" but didn't want to talk about it. What Dean couldn't figure out was what would have his little brother lying to him and keeping quiet about what had happened. Usually by now, Sam was talking Dean's ear off with theories and hypothesizes. Sam's silence meant something big had gone down in his head when he had been out. But since he didn't want to talk, older brother would have to propel the conversation. "Yeah, whatever that was..." Dean trailed off hoping Sam would fill in the blanks, using the out provided to him.

When Sam offered no explanation, only fixing his older brother with a continued blank, Dean continued with exactly what he had seen, hoping his confession would trigger the compassion and empathy and need to relate in his little brother causing Sam to open up cracking like an egg. If that didn't work, he relied on Sam's overwhelming compulsion to undo every riddle to get him to talk. Dean secured his confused face in place and turned to his brother hoping Sam would want to figure out the puzzle. "I mean, it was like you were freakin' electrocuted."

Dean couldn't even look as his brother as he said this, flashing back to: Sam flailing on the floor limbs akimbo like a marionette with a sadistic puppeteer. His mind filled with images of Sam helpless and his own total feelings of uselessness and helplessness again. It washed over him again, that feeling of complete powerlessness. The absolute terror of not knowing what to do. Dean cringed at the memory because he didn't feel powerless, wasn't supposed to feel terror. Turning to look at his brother after shaking the memory away, Dean expected an answer. However, he was met only with the blank stare.

Sam listened to his brother and could hear the fear bleeding through in Dean's voice and recognized he was remembering what happened in Bristol. But Sam didn't, couldn't, wouldn't talk about it, no matter how much his older brother pushed. So instead, he begged Dean, imploring with his eyes more than he had ever begged for anything in his entire life, to just leave well enough alone. Wasn't that what Dean wanted anyway, for Sam to leave well enough alone? So why was he pushing so hard now? Nevertheless, he was deeply sorry for scaring Dean. And no matter what older brother said, Sam knew Dean had been terrified. But that didn't mean this conversation was going to happen. Sam hoped his eyes said it all, "I'm sorry, Dean, but just leave it alone. Forget about it, move on, and pretend it never happened." They had always had an unspoken communication; Sam was relying on it now.

Dean could tell what his brother was trying to do. Misdirect him, send him on a wild goose chase, and get him to change the topic of conversation, but Dean would not be deterred. He still waited to hear Sam's side of the story. As much as he wanted to forget about what had happened, he couldn't. He would just have to wait Sam out like his little brother always did for him. No matter how much Dean didn't want to talk "it" whether "it" was Mom, Dad, Cassie, Hell, Sam would wait patiently until his older brother had had enough and would collapse under the pressure, like a house of cards. However, Dean was still confused at why Sam had erected a barricade of playing stupid around this conversation. He always seemed more than willing to pour whatever was going on in that king-sized brain of his all over his older brother, like Gatorade over the winning coach at a football game. Why the hold-up now? What didn't he want Dean to share?

Sam gave one last attempt at trying to deter his brother. When that didn't work, he conceded defeat through an eye roll. Why was his brother being so tenacious about this? Sam shook his older brother's tenacity. And Dean said Sam was worse than a dog with a bone. Who was the dog now?

As his older brother continued, fixing him with the look that said, "Give it up or I will take it from you," Sam began to squirm. Sometimes his older brother was worse a principal who knew exactly what you did wrong the minute you walked into his office but just wanted to see how long it would take you to confess.

So Sam confessed, sort of. Just because Dean made him divulge information, didn't mean Sam had to give all of the information. "Look," he huffed exasperated. "I mean, it wasn't…" Then he paused watching the small children chase each other around the parking lot searching for the exact word he wanted, "fun." He turned back to his elder brother desperate to convince Dean not to push any further. "But I-I'm…Fine," he said in true Winchester fashion, meaning he wasn't bleeding out on the spot. Sam shrugged, brushing off what had happened in Rhode Island though he was aware his face probably said anything and everything to the contrary. He could tell this was true from the look on his brother's face.

Dean's face reflected the sarcasm and disbelief that dripped through his voice. "Fine," he repeated. How many times had they used that word to mean the exact opposite? He couldn't even bear to look at his younger brother for fear he would call Sam out right then and there in his lie. Sam didn't lie often, but when he did Dean knew it was for what his little brother felt was a good reason. Lying about Ruby, Sam thought he was protecting Dean. Lying about searching for a way out of the crossroad's deal, Sam was trying to save Dean. What Sam didn't realize was that it was older brother's prerogative to decide who and what needed saving and protecting.

Seeing and hearing his older brother's building anger, Sam desperately bored his gaze into Dean pleading with him to understand and just leave what happened alone and forget about it. He offered another shrug and nod to reaffirm the "I'm fine" statement.

Dean still refused to face his younger brother. If Sam wanted to lie to him then fine. But he didn't have bear the begging eyes on top of it. His eyes found the little girl chasing her brother Sam had been watching earlier. He watched them, fond memories of Sam and him doing the same thing, what seemed like a lifetime ago. He steeled himself for what he had to say next, knowing Sam wasn't going to like it. Keeping his eyes fixed on the siblings, so as not to focus on Sam's reaction, Dean broke Sam's wall of pretend cluelessness with a battering ram. "It was Hell, wasn't it?"

Sam's eyes darted to the ground. Even though he knew he'd been busted, Sam still felt the overwhelming desire to respond with "Umm…No." Instead the look on his face changed to one of remorse and guilt for having hurt Dean and for dragging him around in circles when his older brother clearly had a hunch that the seizure had been about hell all along, but was attempting to give Sam an opening to talking about it in controlled circumstances. He tried to catch his brother's eye, but only managed to do so for a second, before Dean pulled away to continue.

"You got a big, fat, face full of Hell," Dean finished anger and anxiety seeping through at Sam's apparent lack thereof considering the circumstances. Sam wasn't considering the full impact of not contradicting his brother's statement. Sam's silence meant what Dean said was true, which meant the wall was failing. Maybe not to large extent yet, but who knew how long that would take Months? Weeks? Days? Possibly even hours, and Dean didn't know. That's what scared him.

Sam thought Dean had finished his tirade and was looking for the appropriate amount of remorse and guilt from his little brother as he felt Dean's rock-hard, "You're in big trouble" gaze bore into his back. Sam returned his eyes to the ground the guilt bearing down on him like the stone in his older brother's look. Dean watched at his little brother focused on the ground staring at his feet like they are the most interesting things he'd ever seen. Anything to avoid Dean's eyes and the fear, love, and accusation he would find there.

Dean carried on hoping to impart to Sam just how important that it was that the Great Wall of Sam stay in place. While he thought they had covered this little note at Bobby's with the statement, "Believe me when I say, what you don't know could kill you," apparently they hadn't. Or it hadn't gotten through his brother's thick head and even thicker will.

Emotion again clouded Dean's voice, and his face scrunched in pain even though there was nothing physically hurting him. The thought of what could happen to Sam if the wall fell. That just wasn't an option. Maybe if Sam saw how upset he made his brother, he would stop. "Ever cross your mind that you could've died?" he asked praying this question would finally hit home. He watched Sam carefully gauging his reaction to see if the words had made any progress, while attempting to shove his own pain back where it belonged, sealed under lock and key.

But Sam was having no part of it. One memory of Hell equaled death. He didn't think so. He gave his brother a look that said, "Yeah, right. Not in a million years." In true little brother fashion, he shook his head and scoffed at older brother blowing things out of proportion. Sam rolled his eyes choosing to follow the clouds rather than his older brother. "Oh, come on," he scoffed again, but still refused to look at Dean.

Dean's anger ratcheted up another notch. Why was Sam not grasping the severity of the situation? This was a life and death matter, and he was treating it like a night at the bar. "I'm serious," Dean said trying to impress the gravity of the circumstances.

Sam suppressed another eye roll at his brother's reluctance to let this go. He knew if he didn't give Dean something soon, they would be discussing this topic from here until Doomsday. _Wait, we already stopped that. Gotta give Dean something, or we'll be here until we die,_ Sam thought. He steeled his face making sure to give Dean his "Fine. You're my big brother, so I'll humor you" look. The one he usually reserved for when Dean was doing or saying something incredibly stupid or ridiculous.

Dean could feel his anger bubbling closer and closer to the surface. Was it going to take Sam ending up in the hospital for his little brother to finally get it? He knew Sam thought he was humoring his big brother when all Dean wanted to do was keep him safe and healthy. What was so wrong with that? But if Dean was ever going to get his point across and find out exactly how much damage that seizure had caused, he needed to take what he could get. So he brushed off Sam's humoring look and pressed on eager to find out what he could about the damage now that his brother was somewhat willing to talk. Even if he thought Dean was overreacting. "And none of this "it's just a flesh wound" crap," Dean clarified making sure Sam was aware his older brother knew what "Winchester fine" meant.

Sam was finally beginning to see how much this episode had hurt and scared his brother. He again found his shoes to be the most interesting part of the scenery. Anything to avoid the hurt in Dean's eyes. If Sam looked at his older brother's eyes long enough, he just might be convinced to give up his search.

Dean rambled on, further trying to convince Sam to give up his crusade. The big brother in him was starting to seep out, creating more anger and frustration at his stubborn little brother. Dean's voice raised, but at the same time, he was trying his damnedest to keep up a calm, logical exterior. Sam was one to analyze everything, so the more logic Dean could infuse into the conversation the better. He appealed to Sam's logic, "'Cause we did it your way. We let you go explore, and every bad thing I said would happen happened." Despite wanting to remain calm, the last few words of Dean's logical explanation were laced with venom.

Sam, the logical being he was, shrugged conceding Dean's point. He had learned just how evil his previous self had been. Learned the awful things a person without a soul was capable of. He had felt the ice and heat of the cage licking at his limbs. While it did put him off slightly, that made Sam want to learn all the more what he had done and what had happened to him, regardless of the consequences. And the more he thought about it, not every bad thing Dean had predicted had come to pass. He wasn't a vegetable; he wasn't dead. What could it hurt to dig up a few more memories? To get Dean on his side, Sam gave his older brother a look that conveyed what he had just been thinking. "Wait, not every bad thing you predicted has happened," his eyes said.

Dean looked at his brother to make sure he was listening to this next edict because it was big brother order. However, his look to Sam was a quick glance, any longer and he might have crumbled under the pleading puppy dog eyes. Sam had pulled out the eyes in an effort to get Dean on his side, but the older brother was holding his ground. "So guess what—"he began making sure he had Sam's full attention, "Past stays past."

The eyes were out in full force. Sam was attempting to convey his want to know, his need to know what had happened over the past year whether in the cage or on earth to his older brother with just one look.

A look Dean strategically avoided all the while keeping a close eye on Sam's reaction to his next statement. "We are _**not**_ kicking that wall again."

Sam shook his head disagreeing wholeheartedly with his brother's assessment of their current dilemma. He believed he could strategically look for memories of his past year, get people to tell him what he had done. After all, nothing had happened when Cass had told him what he had done to Dean and to Bobby. He could pull out little pieces of the wall one at a time like disassembling it brick by brick, that way the memories would come out in chunks rather than cascading down all at once. However, when he tried to voice this idea he was met with a grim-faced Dean. In order to get Dean to warm up to the idea through a sense of guilt, he began, "So what? I'm supposed to just ignore it?" To lay the guilt on even further, Sam turned his pleading gaze to his brother as if daring Dean to look him in the eye and tell him yes.

Dean refused to be taken in, continuing to stare straight ahead watching mothers trying to herd kids back to cars. That's what Dean felt like right now, like he was trying to corral Sam into some place he didn't want to go. How was it, Dean always ended being the big, bad older brother when he was just trying to keep his little brother close and protected? First Stanford, then Ruby and Satan, now this. Despite his little brother's attempts to derail him, Dean was staying firmly on the "We leave the wall alone" train. "Yes," he replied stoically and finitely as though there was no other option, and for him there wasn't. His eyes never left the parking lot until he heard Sam shift to respond.

Sam was not ready to accept ignoring everything as the only option quite yet. He took a few moments to compose himself, ready to argue his side and his point. He focused on his brother knowing Dean could see him shaking his head, again disagreeing. He needed to search, needed to know. His older brother would do the same thing if he was in Sam's shoes, so why was Dean making this so hard? It should be Sam's decision. Sam's right to choose. With his focus, Sam tried to bring up some memory any memory of the last year to show Dean that searching was okay, that it wouldn't hurt. "Dean…" he trailed off making sure as his brother had earlier that he had Dean's full attention before going fully into his argument. "I might've done…" he trailed off again trying to remember at least one little thing to give his brother some perspective. Sensing he might lose Dean if he lingered any longer trying to come up with a memory, Sam continued shrugging to show his complete and utter lack of memories at what he might have done, "…who knows what."

Sam paused taking a moment to fully connect with his brother. He looked Dean straight in the eyes, showing all the guilt and remorse buried just under the surface. Guilt over the things he knew he had done and those he didn't yet remember. He wanted to impress upon Dean just how much it would mean to get rid of some of that guilt by making right what he could. Maybe if Dean saw just how much hurt not knowing was causing Sam, he would agree to the search. Sam brought up his older brother's solution once more as if to demonstrate how much it was not working, "And you want me to just forget about it?"

Dean broke eye contact as he felt his resolve wavering. He shook his head partially at his stubborn little brother and partially at himself. He couldn't believe he was actually going to give Sam this piece of advice. The last thing he wanted Sam to do was turn into him. He had tried and tried to prevent it before going to Hell, but if it was the only way to get Sam off the remembering track, so be it. "You shove it down," he began his confidence in his advice growing. "And you let it come out in…in spurts of violence and alcoholism," by the time Dean had reached the final two words he was now looking his brother straight in the eyes and saying them with the firmness of confidence in a remedy that would work.

This time it was Sam who broke eye contact. He couldn't believe his brother was giving him such advice. He had seen how well the gun and the bottle had worked for Dean. He didn't want to go down that road, but he also didn't want to disappoint his brother. So he fell back on the fact Dean knew he was quite a health nut saying skeptically with a hint of sarcasm, but just enough so his older brother would catch it, "That sounds healthy."

Dean shook his head. Dang it, he was doing that a lot lately. Why couldn't Sam just agree with him like he had in the past? What happened to the mandate "older brother was always right"? Now, Sam was shoving away his advice like it was some moldy, old bread. Dean was going to make sure his little brother knew exactly how much he had hurt him, and he was going to get Sam to agree to leave the wall alone even if it meant begging. He turned pleading wounded eyes on his brother saying, "Well, it works for me."

Sam sighed, not meeting Dean's eyes. He knew exactly which buttons he had pushed and how much he had injured his brother. But as he gazed across the parking lot, he tried to figure out how to make it better. He wanted to fix this whole thing: the memories, Dean, Hell. Why couldn't the world just give him an answer? The answer. The one that would change everything. Sam waited for his brother to come up with what Dean believed to be the solution. Not the one the world offered but the "Big brother knows all and can fix all with the wave of his hand" solution. Surprised at his Dean's silence, Sam turned back to his brother with a face of stone ready to take the next verbal punch, knowing Dean hadn't yet said everything he wanted to say.

Dean again shook his head. He knew his little brother was stubborn. Heck he'd raised him that way, not to mention it was a family trait. But why couldn't Sam get it through his thick skull? Sometimes talking to his little brother was like talking to a pissed off spirit, mind only on one thing no regard for anything else. Sam really didn't understand the consequences, of what he was contemplating doing. Once he poked that wall, there was no going back. It was jumping off the deep end of the pool, the point of no return. Once pieces were removed from the wall, Dean was sure the entire thing would tumble down like the wall of Jericho not soon after. Sam didn't understand everything behind that barrier was meanier and nastier than anything he'd ever seen, especially because some of it looked like his little brother. The scoffs and the hmms told Dean Sam thought of this like any other case any other bit of research, but it wasn't. "It's not a joke," he managed somewhat calmly.

Sam's face dropped again, Dean adding to his already guilty conscience. He didn't want to hurt his older brother he just wanted answers. Dean should know by now that Sam, being the person he was always held a desire of answers and to repair anything he felt he had done wrong.

Dean was well aware of the fact he was heaping more crap onto Sam's already steaming pile of guilt, but if that's what it took to make his little brother realize just how scared he was that he might lose Sam again. To the same Hell he had just come back from. That's what it took. Dean wouldn't, couldn't go through that again. If his little brother died this time, Dean might just die right along side him.

"Your life is on the line here, Sam," he said leaving the "So is mine" unspoken, knowing Sam could see it in his eyes when his little brother's gaze shifted guiltily from Dean's face to the ground.

"This is not a debate. I mean, first you were a-a soulless dickbag, and **now you're not**," Dean raised his voice again, hardening it slightly to emphasize to Sam just how adamant he was the wall be left alone. He had seen and experienced the changes in his brother that Sam could not remember. Dean remembered what RoboSam had been like and some of the things RoboSam had done and had no desire to revisit those times should the wall fall. He tried to impose upon Sam how much he liked this version of his little brother better, and there was no need to mess with the other one. Dean beseeched Sam to just leave it alone giving his own version of the pleading puppy dog look hoping it would have the same effect on his little brother that Sam's always seemed to have on him.

Sam, however, still bogged down by guilt and the fact he did not want to comply his older brother's request affixed his eyes firmly to his shoes.

"So we good?" Dean asked in a final tone, which indicated there was no more room for discussion. He had told Sam to stop poking. Sam knew all the reasons his older brother didn't want him poking the wall, including his possible death. So he had better leave that barricade alone. Dean was done with this conversation and ready to move on. He had no doubt it would come up again, but for now they were just going round and round in circles. Sam wanting to search and Dean stating all the reason he shouldn't.

Sam heard the finality and the underlying, "This is the end of discussion. I am right. And now you know exactly why I don't want you poking at the wall, so don't," in Dean's words. He realized resistance at this point was futile. So he would give in to Dean, for now. He replied, "Yeah, sure," not quite agreeing with his own words. He shrugged, shaking his head turning it to a nod because Dean was watching Sam's body language disagreeing with the positivity in his speech. This was too close to the incident to talk any more about it now. Sam would bury away his need for the moment until Dean had calmed down, and he could talk to his older brother about the problem in a more rational way.

Dean knew Sam didn't mean a word of what he was saying, but searched his little brother's eyes just the same, hoping he was wrong. He didn't see agreement, what he saw was the same determination he knew was glistening in his own eyes. The "I'll leave it alone for now, but we are definitely coming back to this after some time has passed" look. However, the older brother was willing to take the win this time around. So he dropped the issue, pretending he didn't see anything. He nodded, hoping his assessment of the situation would bring his little brother around to Dean's way of thinking, "Good."

Dean again scanned the parking lot unwilling to meet the look of defeat in his little brother's eyes. If Sam felt he had been defeated in this round, maybe he was beginning to come around to the idea of leaving everything in his head alone.

Sam slumped slightly in giving his brother the victory, the defeat in the hunch of his shoulders mirrored in his eyes. Usually, the pleading look coupled with the guilt was enough to get his older brother to agree to come around to his way of thinking. Why couldn't he make Dean understand? Dean would do the same thing if he were in Sam's shoes, why with the situation reversed were things so different? He would just have to devise another way to approach the subject. Sam settled onto the Impala for a nice long strategy plan with breakfast, but was interrupted by Dean, no doubt attempting to stop any such thing.

"Well, let's get your mind off it, shall we?" Dean asked in a complete turn around from the angry brother of moments before, though some still lingered in the huskiness of his voice.

Sam raised his eyebrows at his brother in surprise. The look clearly saying, "What are you talking about?" Sam knew Dean was going to do just about anything to keep him out of his own head and knowing Dean distraction could mean anything from monster truck rallies to strip clubs. But Sam had conceded the loss, so he would have to take what was coming to him. But what Dean said next was not what he had expected. The total opposite in fact.

"You, uh, up for a job?" Dean asked gauging his brother's reaction while making his own assessment of Sam's health. No matter what Sam said, if Dean felt he wasn't ready for the job, something else would have to be found to distract his little brother from the Great Wall of Sam. Deeming Sam fit enough for the job he had found, Dean pulled out the paper he had purchased with breakfast and began thumbing through to the article that had caught his eye.

Sam stared eyebrows again raised, this time in shock. This was not at all what he had been expecting his brother to say. After getting over the initial "Huh? What?" stage, he shrugged as if saying, "Not what I was expecting, but if it means you getting off my case about remembering Hell, I'm all for it." Seeing Dean too focused on the paper to see the shrug, he asked, "Well, what do you got?"

Dean pulled the paper out fully to get a better look at the front page article his thumb had been resting on as he sipped his coffee. Holding the paper in one hand and coffee in the other, he summarized the article. As he summarized, he smiled, pretty sure this was going to be exactly their kind of job and just the right thing to keep Sam distracted. The excitement from his smile crept into his voice, "Janitor murdered in a college lab last night."

Waiting a moment for his little brother to say something about what made this their kind of job and hearing nothing, Dean pulled his voice down to a more serious note to draw Sam in. He needed to keep his little brother away from the wall. "Doors were locked, nobody else in or out of the building." Finished, he focused on Sam to make sure the younger Winchester was following along and not lost in his own head.

Sam shrugged again in a "Why not?" type gesture. He was doing that a lot lately, but he wanted to give Dean the impression that everything was okay and just fine and shrugging was a good way to do that because it gave off an air of nonchalance. Noticing his older brother was watching him for a slightly more than just a shrug, he gave a nod and a look that said, "Sounds like it could be our kind of gig. So why not check it out. Couldn't hurt." Sensing Dean was waiting more for verbal conformation, he replied, "Great. Where to?" Sam grabbed his coffee off the hood of the Impala and made like he was going to get up. If Dean noticed Sam's lack of enthusiasm, he didn't comment.

Dean glanced down at the paper before Sam was completely ready to go. His face pinched a bit in confusion, but confusion quickly gave way to amusement. "Patterson, New Jersey," he said clear excitement showing on his face as he turned to Sam to answer his question.

Sam gave his brother a confused look at the excitement. This just sounded like a standard job.

"Hey, maybe we'll have a Snooki sighting," Dean chuckled returning to the paper, completely missing the confusion on Sam's face. Hey, everybody had a guilty pleasure. So what if Dean watched Jersey Shore along with Dr. Sexy. Nobody had to know, and the whole world was obsessed anyway, so what was the difference?

_How much did I miss in the last year? People are making up new words again? Dang internet._ While Sam had been attempting to catch up on the happenings of the world during his missed year, he still had a ways to go. Fifteen days of catching up didn't make up for 365 of lost time. So until he had a chance to scour the Internet for information, he would just have to rely on his older brother who plainly found this Snooki thing, whatever it was, amusing. If Dean wouldn't fill in the RoboSam blanks, he could at least fill in the general day-to-day life blanks. So Sam asked genuinely interested, "What's a Snooki?"

Dean turned back to his little brother. He forgot how much normal stuff was blocked out right along with the evil. RoboSam probably didn't even know or care about _Jersey Shore, _so the fact that Sam was his Sam and genuinely interested in all knowledge no matter how small and miniscule made Dean smile.

But his laughter came to a grinding halt as he stumbled and stuttered debating whether or not to answer his little brother's simple question. And it was just that, a simple question, seemingly harmless about the star of a reality cable TV series. What damage could it do? "_What damage?_" was exactly the question Dean was asking himself. How much could he tell his little brother about even the day-to-day stupid crap like Snooki and _Jersey Shore_ without triggering a memory? Best not to find out now out in the open. If Sam really wanted to know about Snooki, there were plenty of fan sites not to mention bashing sites on the Internet for him to explore. That way he could find out the information on his own. Sam would be adding information to his brain through his own memories and knowledge, not RoboSam's. Anyway, Dean wouldn't even know where to begin in his explanation.

So true to his nature, he brushed off Sam's question with a noncommittal answer which Dean knew would send Sam on his own search, "That is a good question."

With that he pushed himself off the car glancing down once more at the city's name blazoned across the front page. He grabbed coffee and food ignoring the questioning look in his brother's eyes. "Let's just eat breakfast and get on the road," he said rooting around for one of his donuts. "I got you a muffin," he said by way of a peace offering holding out the to-go bag after pulling out his own sugar-coated breakfast.


	6. Not Just a Flesh Wound

**AN: As stated before, I do all my own editing. Feel free to point out any errors, but please do so kindly. Constructive criticism is helpful; cruel criticism is mean. **

**This chapter is about 85-95% original stuff. Let me know if you feel there is not enough detail or the transitions feel off. Just had to tie up some loose ends, like the fact Dean left Sam alone by himself on a hunt after he had a seizure. I'm not sure how time passage works on the show. Obviously, a few days have to pass throughout the course of an episode if the boys are going to be transversing the United States in the time span of 40 or so minutes. I imagine the end of episode 6.13 occurred very close to the end of 6.14 because the Winchesters only went from Rhode Island to New Jersey, not counting Dean's stint to Michigan and the finale at Bobby's. So here's my take on the whole shebang…**

Chapter 6: Not Just a Flesh Wound

Sam was currently driving around Passaic, New Jersey, following up on a hunch about Isabel Brown. Despite his best efforts, Rose Brown had attacked and killed her old co-worker, Johnny. And no matter what Sam thought or how much he agreed with Rose that the guy was a total dick, no one deserved to die. But Sam had salted and burned the bones, so he was heading to the only place that might have something of Rose's she would be attached to. Her sister's.

He had called Dean from the cemetery and again before leaving the motel but met with only his brother's voicemail. Sam had left one message telling his brother the salt and burn hadn't worked and another saying he was going back to Isabel's.

Whatever was going down at Lisa's must be pretty huge.

Dean usually always answered his cell, especially when he saw it was his little brother calling. His older brother didn't ever like to let Sam hunt on his own. No matter how competent and adept his little brother. Despite the fact that Sam was now almost in his thirties, he would always be Dean's little brother, someone who Dean had to protect and watch out for. Which is why Sam was surprised his older brother had caved so easily when Sam had told him to find out what was going on with Lisa and Ben. The woman and her son had been Dean's family for over a year. Sam, however, had been around a lot longer which meant Dean usually put his little brother before everything himself included, much to Sam's annoyance and most of the time Dean's detriment. But just as Sam needed to deal with what had happened during the last year, so did his brother.

Still, Sam couldn't believe he was hunting alone. Especially after the so-called "conversation" they had had at the rest stop. The "You could've died" conversation/lecture, that had ended with the "my way or the highway" ultimatum. Which explained why, Sam was so surprised his older brother had left him to his own devices.

While he wasn't complaining, he was curious as to what exactly was going on inside his big brother's head. If the tables had been turned, Sam wouldn't have let Dean out of his sight even if Hellhounds had been on their tail. He would have stuck to his older brother like a burr in a dog's fur.

Dean, however, had accepted Sam's push toward Michigan without much of a fuss. He wasn't sure if this meant something bad going down in Michigan or Dean trusted him that much. Sam was willing to bet on the prior. Dean was forced to choose between his families and right now Sam was fully functioning and not in any immediate danger, which meant his older brother chose who he believed was in greater peril.

Sam knocked on Isabel's door waiting for her to answer, hoping to quickly and quietly salt and burn whatever memento she had kept of her sister. Maybe this hunt would restore Dean's confidence in him. Maybe it would make Dean believe once and for all that Sam could handle himself and was not whatever robot had come back without a soul and not the little brother he couldn't trust.

Sam started slightly when Isabel opened the door, lost deeply in his thoughts about Michigan and his brother. Recovering quickly, he accepted her invitation eager to find out what exactly she had kept of her sister's. Not that Sam could blame her. When Dean had died, Sam had kept the amulet just where Dean always had.

After a brief conversation about what exactly Isabel had Rose was still attached to, Sam came out of Isabel's apartment, the girl following closely behind. He had told her to come with him not thinking about the fact he was going to need to call his brother and tell Dean about the haunted kidney. How exactly was he going to salt and burn a haunted body part? The girl needed it after all. Sometimes Sam hated this job. He had just wanted a simple salt and burn and now here he was getting ready to climb into the car of a girl with a haunted kidney. "Isabel, why don't you go get your car? I have phone call to make. Hopefully, we'll be able to get this whole thing sorted out." Sam heaved a sigh of relief as the girl followed his request without question. He pulled out his phone and dialed. Hopefully, Dean would answer his phone this time.

"Hey, Sammy. What's up? I'm on my way back to you," Dean said giving his brother a subtle hint not to ask about Michigan. If Sam knew he was already on his way back, his little brother would ask a lot fewer questions, storing them all up for when he could gauge Dean's facial expressions in person.

"We have a problem," Sam said being sure to let his seriousness bleed through the phone.

"What is it? You seemed okay when I left. Did you have another seizure? Did you zone out?" Sam could hear the barely disguised panic in his brother voice and instantly felt bad for making him worry. He then heard Dean's patented brush off, trying to convince Sam that he wasn't panicked or worried. "Oh no, you zoned out in front of that Isabel chick didn't you. So now not only do we have to explain about her dead ghost sister, we have to explain your freaky head condition."

"It's not a freaky head condition," Sam said exasperated not wanting to broach the subject right now choosing to focus completely on the hunt. "And no, not that kind of problem, Dean. One to do with the hunt."

"You mean other than the fact her sister is a ghost and killing people for being dicks," Dean chuckled still amused at Rose's MO. "Besides, I thought you were going over to Isabel's to find what little item she kept and burn it."

"I did, but that's the problem, Dean. I told you, new hunting problem."

"A hunting problem, right. Now that I can handle," Dean said thinking of the conversations he had just had. "Lay it on me."

"I told you I was going to find out what Rose was hooked to. Well, I got the answer," Sam paused for effect. "A kidney."

"What?"

"Isabel's kidney. It's the reason the salt and burn didn't work. Rose gave Isabel a kidney to save her life when she was sixteen. Isabel has been walking around with a piece of her sister inside of her for years. That's how the ghost has been able to move from place to place. Rose can go wherever Isabel does: college, work, the bar..." Sam trailed off hoping his brother would get the idea. He didn't have much time before Isabel returned with her car and started asking questions.

"A haunted kidney. That's new. So what's the plan?" Dean asked assuming Sam had one. After all, Sam was usually the man with the plan. By this time in the case, he had usually had done all the research and considered every possibility. Though, a haunted body part was never something they had encountered before.

"I don't know," Sam said utterly and completely lost. He didn't care Dean would get the impression he couldn't handle things on his own. He knew he said he could handle the hunt for 24 hours. But right now, he just wanted his big brother to fix it and for this hunt to be over and done with. "That's why I called you. We can't just salt and burn the thing. She _needs_ it."

"We'll figure something out, Sammy. We always do. And we'll figure it out together when I get there. Meet me at the parking lot downtown. The one with all the abandoned storefronts across from the football stadium. We'll meet in front of the store with the big percentage off sign in the window and all the graffiti," Dean said taking over the situation. "And don't think too much. Stay out of your head," he warned.

"All right Dean," Sam said agreeing to the first but not second request. "See you soon. I'll bring Isabel with me. We have to tell her something."

"Stay out of your head, Sammy. I mean it," Dean said but realized he was only speaking to the dial tone. This only made him put his foot to the floor and drive faster, desperate to get to Passaic.

Once he reached the parking lot where he said he'd meet his brother and the girl with the haunted kidney, that phrase sounded weird even in his own head, Dean resisted the urge to grill his little brother focusing on the case at hand. As much as he wanted to know if Sam had been poking at the wall again, they needed to get rid of the ghost girl first. So Dean schooled his features, hiding the anxiety and uneasiness that had followed him all the way to Michigan. Sam didn't need to know that even while Dean was driving to help Lisa and Ben his thoughts were only on his little brother. He could see Sam sitting in the car with Isabel across the parking lot. His brother was in the driver's seat which meant that Sam was still upright and functional. However, Dean doubted for just a moment just how functional Sam really was watching his little brother get out of the car and head toward the Impala before it was even at a complete stop.

Sam's face was pinched with worry and what looked to Dean to be fear. While they had never handled something as bizarre as a haunted body part before, there was no reason for Sam to be as anxious as he looked. Sam looked as though he was a kid jumping off the diving board for the first time with no one to catch him.

Dean smiled to himself. He would always be there to catch his little brother. Dean wondered what was causing the anxiousness. Had Sam had another seizure he was trying to keep secret? The older brother could see how Sam was attempting to walk straight and tall, all business. But Dean knew it wasn't all business but more of a show for Isabel. He would go along with the show for now. Just until the hunt was over, and Isabel and anyone Rose held a grudge against were safe. Then Dean was going to concentrate solely on his little brother, intent on getting rid of all that anxiousness wherever it came from.

First, to deal with a haunted kidney. He got out of his baby and came around to meet Sam at the front of the Impala to work out a game plan.

And wouldn't you know it as with most Winchester hunts, there wasn't even time to make a full game plan. They ended up just figuring things out on the fly which didn't always work to the brothers' advantage. The hunt didn't go exactly as planned, with Isabel first thinking they were crazy then being impaled on a piece of glass. While the ghost had been demolished, an innocent girl had died, and Dean was still stuck with a brother who wasn't willing to share any information. Sam refused to tell Dean anything that had happened in New Jersey that didn't relate directly to the case.

As much as Dean wanted to nag and badger his little brother into coughing up information, he kept silent. Sam needed some time to process not only his seizure but the hunt as well. Dean was sure this was going to be another bad memory in a long list of bad memories and screwed up hunts. For now, he would leave Sam to process, as long as that processing didn't include picking at the wall.

Sam glanced once at his brother in the driver's seat before returning his gaze to the Eastern United States scenery streaming past his window. He wasn't sure what Dean wanted to know. Nothing had happened in New Jersey. He hadn't poked, prodded, or picked at the wall. He had focused entirely on the task at hand. And he guessed it was time his older brother knew that. "Dean, "he began.

Dean looked over at his brother for a moment, "Yeah. What's up, Sam? You need to stop or somethin'?"

Sam's eyes widened in amazement; Dean was never this willing to accommodate him. Not unless his little brother was sick or injured. "No," he said. "I just wanted to let you know nothing happened back there."

"What do you mean nothing happened? We solved a case," Dean focused on the road pretending to be oblivious even though he had an idea of what his younger brother was trying to tell him.

Sam huffed slightly annoyed. He knew his brother wanted to know what happened, but instead of coming out and asking Sam, Dean would try to make it seem like talking had been Sam's idea. "I mean nothing wall related. I didn't touch the wall. I didn't even look at it or think about it. I was too focused on the case. And besides, we don't know anything more would happen if I tried to figure out what I did."

"Sam," he could hear the edge in his older brother's voice. A clear and blatant warning.

Now was not the time to attempt to convince Dean of the harmlessness of looking into the past. Whatever had happened at Lisa's had shaken his brother up. Add that to a botched hunt and what had happened in Bristol, Sam refused to call it a seizure, and it was a wonder Dean was even functioning and not a balled up mess. His brother could handle a lot, but it seemed as though the universe felt whatever the Winchester brothers had to handle just wasn't enough and heaped more crap on the pile.

So Sam decided not to bring up the wall or Lisa and Ben. At least not for the next hundred miles. Wasn't that how long their truces usually lasted? "Nothing happened, Dean. I'm fine. Just thought you should know," Sam said before pulling out the newspaper Dean had purchased to find their job, intent on catching up on some news. As he read, he listened to the strains of AC/DC in the background, Dean drumming along on the steering wheel.

They had been driving for a while now, picking up after their most recent stop in Wisconsin. Sam had started this leg of the journey chatting away, asking Dean a billion and one questions about events he had read in not only the paper Dean had purchased a few days ago, but the more recent ones he himself had purchased, along with copies of _People, Time, _and _Newsweek _magazine.

Over the last hour or so, Sam chose to stop his barrage of questions in favor of thumbing through a few of Bobby's books he had pulled from the trunk.

Dean knew something wasn't quite right when he hadn't heard a page turning in over ten minutes.

However, Sam was mumbling to himself.

"What are you reading there Sasquatch anything interesting?" Dean asked waiting for Sam's usual snarky comeback about being the only one who did research. Not hearing a response from his little brother, he glanced at the passenger seat expecting to see Sam either absorbed in the book or asleep scrunched up against the window talking in his sleep, much as he had done after Jessica's death. But when had Dean Winchester ever gotten anything he'd expected?

_Oh no, _Dean thought. _Not Again_. They had been doing so well since New Jersey. They were heading back to Bobby's to take a break and figure out their next move.

Dean should have spotted the start of a seizure earlier, when Sam was acting off. It had begun slowly Sam going from watching the scenery to staring intently out the window completely disregarding the book in his lap. Then his hand had started to tremble. He had tried to hide it from Dean. Masking it by pretending to flip through the giant tome. But Dean had noticed, the tremor making the pages flutter when not being turned. Dean had brushed it off as Sam being nervous or self-conscious, annoyed at his older brother for keeping such close watch and annoyed at himself for not being able to control his own mind: his most powerful weapon.

They had driven on, and now Sam was mumbling to himself. Dean was able to pick out the occasional word mostly repetitions of angel and fire. He did and didn't want to know what was going on inside his little brother's head right now. Still, trembling hands and mumbled phrases Dean could deal with. It was the spazzing and the jerking that freaked him out. Despite the fact these seizures were slightly less frightening than the one Sam had had before they left Bristol Dean was extremely keen on finding a place to pull over. Once again, Winchester Luck was not on their side.

The shoulder of the road was soft yet rocky. Trying to pull over only led to the Impala being pulled in all directions like a child's toy at daycare. In spite of that, Dean scoured the road. His eyes darted ahead of the car trying to find a spot that looked solid enough to hold his baby and his baby brother, while at the same sliding over to the right every few seconds to test the ground.

Finding a spot where the Impala could sit fairly flat and not sink into the mud, Dean pulled over keeping his eyes completely focused on the patch of ground not wanting to miss it in case they were going to be there a while. He parked and was about to give his brother the full once over when his gut clenched. It was his "little brother in danger" reflex. Dean thought a moment, no more than half a second, before figuring out what had triggered it.

He knew something was really wrong when the book Sam had been perusing thudded to the floor lodging under the dashboard. Sam would never treat one of Bobby's books with such disrespect. Not only were most of them older than the dirt they were covered in, but many were rare editions containing the only record of the information held in their pages.

Treating those books with such blatant disrespect was to disrespect Bobby. And no way would Sam especially geek-boy Sam ever treat Bobby or his books with anything but the utmost reverence. Dean tensed as he turned; Sam's hand had gone from the quiet trembling to all out jerking. His head and other arm mimicked the motion.

Dean attempted to maneuver Sam into a somewhat flat position in the front seat. However, his brother's size, he himself, and the steering wheel made things a little difficult. He was a Winchester though and would do his best with the situation.

By the time Sam was horizontal, the jolting had stopped now nothing more than a small twitch. Dean glanced at his watch. This seizure had been longer than Sam's others, but part of that was due to the fact Sam had probably actually had more than one if Dean tallied up all the out of the ordinary things Sam had been doing since they had left the motel.

Now, Sam was out for the count giving his older brother time to think and decide how to best deal with the situation without all the protesting. Dean's mind traveled back to the previous two years and his panic room experiences.

He had read up on seizures when Sam was having them during his demon blood withdrawal. Dean knew there were two major types. The first was what Sam had had when he was remembering Bristol where he just zoned out for a while. Then the second kind he had while they were packing, the convulsing no-control-over-your-limbs flopping around like a cat thrown in a bathtub. What Sam had just experienced in the car was one of the various combinations of the two.

And if his little brother didn't want to take the "effective" solution Dean had to offer, he was making damn sure Sam didn't have another beached fish incident. His older brother instincts couldn't handle it. Sam was going to a doctor whether he liked it or not. Dean was going to prevent Hell from taking over his brother and making him a drooling mess, if it was the last thing he did. If it took conventional medicine to help re-enforce Death's wall than so be it.

Sam was beginning to come around, his period of unconsciousness significantly shorter than the previous one.

Dean sent a small prayer of thanks to he didn't know who he would not have to endure the agonizing wait again. "Sam, you awake? You with me?" he asked.

Sam groaned, grumbled, blinked, and looked around the car to re-orient himself before giving a nod.

"Words, Sam," Dean pushed wanting to make sure his little brother was fully coherent before moving on.

"With you." He swallowed. "I'm good," reassuring his older brother.

"With me, yes. Good, no. Sam, you just had a seizure in the car in the middle of freakin' nowhere, Wisconsin/North Dakota," Dean realized he had no idea where they had stopped. "See that? You shook me up so much I can't even remember where we are," Dean rarely admitted when Sam had him scared, but maybe that would get his little brother to see just how serious the situation really was.

No such luck as Sam continued the argument, "But it's over. I'm okay now, Dean. Stop worrying and fussing. You're worse that a new mom."

"Tough, we're stopping at a hospital in the next town we come to that's big enough to have one," Dean said putting his foot down.

"Dean, why?" Sam all but whined. Then he decided to be rational, "We know what's causing these seizures. Memories of Hell. Memories of my past life. That's not exactly a conventional reason to have seizures."

"No, but it mimics conventional reasons, like a head injury, and Sam we have been hunting long enough to have plenty of those. Also some of the medications they have might be able to re-enforce the part of your brain where the wall is weakest, which is what is causing the seizures."

"How do you know all this?" Sam asked his mouth hanging open in shock after his brother's explanation.

"I did my research, Geek-boy," Dean responded with a smirk.

"Dean, no," Sam protested vehemently. "I know the side effects. I don't want to be all space cadet. Who's going to watch your back on hunts?" Again he tried to reason.

"Researched that, too. There are certain medications that don't cause drowsiness. They just cause itchy skin or extra hairiness. I figured it would give you a chance to use that girly lotion you love so much. Or give me a real reason to call you Sasquatch. You might actually look like one."

"When did you have time to do all this research?" Sam had a vague idea but he wanted a confirmed answer.

"When you were in the panic room going through withdrawal," Dean said quickly, his mind and words brushing over the time period that had happened not only once but three times. "I researched causes of seizures so if we ever had to include them on your medical history, we could make it sound legit." Sam's face was blank in shock and awe. He held even more respect and admiration for his brother. "I know. I know. I stole your geeky thunder. But you weren't available to be my sidekick."

Sam was so immersed in the argument he didn't catch the playfulness of Dean's tone nor the insult flung at him. "Dean," he persisted. "We don't even know if it's going to help."

"It's worth a shot. Next town, Sammy," he said with finality. "No arguments. You are not the one who had to sit and watch while his brother looked like he was being freakin' electrocuted."

"No, but I did have to watch what happened when my brother was actually electrocuted."

"And you didn't let me argue about the hospital then, so don't argue about it now."

"You were unconscious Dean."

"Doesn't matter. When I was conscious and wanted to leave, you still wouldn't let me argue. So just shut up and deal."


	7. Natural or Supernatural

Chapter 7: Natural or Supernatural

**Okay so here's the entire chapter. Finally had some time to type the whole thing out, hope you enjoy it. I do all my own editing, so all mistakes are my own. Please feel free to leave any constructive criticism. No cruel criticism please. Sorry for the wait. **

**Enjoy.**

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the walk-in clinic. Sam wasn't having a seizure right now, so they could forgo the Emergency Room. Besides, they didn't really have the money right now to afford the ER.

"Sam, we're here."

"Dean, is this really necessary?"

"Yes, Sam it is. I want to get this figured out before something goes really wrong," Dean said not even giving Sam the chance to get out of the car by himself. He thrust the car into park, throwing her an apologetic glance. Then he raced around the passenger side. Leaning down, Dean extracted his brother from the car and propped him up against the side of the car. Dean steadied Sam with one hand while shutting the door with the other. Draping one of Sam's arms over his shoulder, he said, "Let's get you checked out, Sasquatch."

Once Sam was upright, he shied away from his brother's touch. "I'm fine Dean. I can walk by myself."

Knowing his brother's stubborn streak, Dean backed away making it appear as though he was giving Sam his space, but in reality being close enough to support him should Sam falter or begin to fall. Once Dean had moved away from him, Sam took a tentative step on his own. He swayed dizzily looking almost drunk. "I know you can, but just humor me, okay. You look a little tired." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose as he struggled to find his footing. "Another headache, Sam?" Dean asked giving his brother a once over.

Sam nodded the motion making him sway again, "Okay, maybe I need a little help."

Dean saw complete and utter trust in Sam's eyes; even after all they had been through. This was his Sam, the one that had complete faith in Dean no matter what: whether that involved seeking medical help or saying no to an archangel. "Just let me help, "Dean said. Once again draping Sam's arm over his shoulder the two brothers made their way to the entrance. Sometimes it felt like a losing battle for Dean to get Sam to accept help without forcing it on him because Sam was just so stubborn. Dean, however, was intent on getting Sam the help he needed for this problem whether Sam liked it or not.

Through the walk Sam seemed to be becoming steadier. While Sam was gaining more stability, able to take more and more of his own weight and balance made Dean ecstatic about the fact that the break in the wall hadn't done more damage; Dean was also worried. What if the doctors refused to see Sam because he wasn't exhibiting symptoms other than a slight headache? Dean didn't really want to induce memories of what Sam had done during his time with Samuel to make him zone out or induce memories of hell to make his brother convulse. He had reached a dilemma, but seeing as how they were still a few feet from the door, Dean would wait until they had spoken to a doctor before worrying himself into a frenzy. Right now his main concern was to get his little brother some pain meds, since he had refused the ones Dean had offered earlier, even though Dean could clearly see that while Sam had made it through an entire case minus one brother and plus one headache/probable migraine he was still in a world of pain.

"You doin' okay, Sammy?" Sam gave another nod all be it this one smaller than his last, pinching the bridge of his nose again in an attempt to stave off a wave of blinding pain threatening to take away his faculties. "Sure you are," Dean scoffed. "How about you tell me the truth, since I can totally tell you're in a world of hurt. I can't help you if you won't let me Sammy."

"Dean, I'm fine okay. Just a little headache is all. It just feels like a post-vision migraine. Maybe we can just get them to refill those meds; instead of going through all this hassle."

"Uh-uh, Sammy. No way. These seizure things or whatever you want to call them are RoboSam's memories combined with memories of hell. That's a heck of a lot stronger than a vision."

"Maybe Bobby…"

"Maybe Bobby, nothing. If conventional medicine can help, that's where we try first. There's no need to be messin' around with magic and mojos if we don't have to. Natural before supernatural, Sam."

"But the cause is supernatural. Seizures brought on by memories of a soulless body and hell. That's not normal Dean."

"No, but maybe like your post-vision migraines these seizures can be explained by something normal. Maybe that wall that Death put up mimics a head injury. Who knows? No one. No one, not until we get you checked out. That's all I'm asking, Sammy. Let's just find out for sure what we're dealing with; then we'll know how to fix it or at least handle it. I promise you, anything funky and I will have you out of there faster than Crowley had Bobby out of his wheelchair. Okay?"

"Okay," Sam sighed in resignation. By now the brothers had reached the lobby of the walk-in clinic; Dean deposited Sam into one of the few cushioned chairs in the small waiting room.

"I'll be right back. I'm just going to get whatever forms we need to fill out to get some help around here. You stay put," he said pointing a finger at Sam.

"I'm not five anymore, Dean," Sam said attempting to give his brother a death glare.

"Sometimes I wonder," Dean returned with a smirk. After making sure his brother had no intentions of moving, he then moseyed over to the reception desk, where a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman was busily cataloguing charts on her computer. She was a little older maybe in her earlier fifties which was usually Sam's area of expertise. For some reason, older women with maternal instincts flocked to him like he was a lost puppy who was in need of an owner. However, though the receptionist was out of his usual demographic Dean would use every weapon in his arsenal if it meant his brother would get help faster. "Hello, sweetheart. My brother's here because he's got this really bad migraine. He hit his head a couple of days ago, and then he had a seizure. Now he's got these headaches, and he zones out sometimes. Is it possible for him to see a doctor?"

"Fill out all that information on the forms. We're extremely busy today sir. Is your brother conscious?" she asked without looking up from her typing.

"Yes that's him, right over there," Dean said pointing at Sam hoping the receptionist would look up for a minute to see his brother, so Sam could gain her sympathy with his puppy dog eyes.

The receptionist remained focused on her typing oblivious to Dean's charm smile as well as the puppy dog eyes Dean knew were revved up behind his back. Struggling to keep his cool, Dean glanced away from the desk to check on his brother. Sam was now slumped in the plastic waiting room chair looking for all the world like he was five again curling up in Dean's lap or Bobby's arm chair. Sam was also pinching the bridge of his nose again.

And the receptionist still hadn't looked up from her typing. Just took one hand off the keyboard to set a clipboard filled with paperwork on top of the reception desk and slide it Dean's way. "And as I said we are very busy today. So as long as your brother is conscious he'll have to wait. Here are the forms you will need to fill out for treatment. Complete the forms, and bring them back to me. Once the information is entered in the computer, your brother will be able to see a doctor." She tapped the clipboard once and resumed typing with two hands.

Seeing no sympathy in the woman's eyes, Dean changed tactics from charm to politeness. "Excuse me, ma'am. Please, I just need a minute of your time." Dean usually wasn't a polite person; he left the buttering up of motherly figures to Sam. But his little brother was in no position to argue his own case.

"I am a very busy woman, young man. I don't have time for your games. Just fill out the paperwork and return it to me."

Dean turned from the receptionist gazing back to Sam once more, hoping his little brother would be more convincing. Sam was now slumped even further in the chair still pinching the bridge of his nose, looking like a cross between a bored teenager and a sick five-year-old. The puppy dog eyes were in full force. As was the bitchface. Sam pouted as though someone had stolen his favorite teddy bear.

However, the lady behind the desk was oblivious to the antics of both Winchesters.

So Dean changed tactics once more, drawing out the worried big brother, which wasn't all that much of a stretch and wasn't at all a lie. He was genuinely concerned about Sam and the stability of the wall. Dean glared at the top of the woman's gray-streaked head. But then schooled his features in order to get what he wanted from her. "Excuse me ma'am. It's just that he's my baby brother." Dean pulled out his own version of the puppy dog eyes. Though not quite as strong or as effective as his brother's, they had their own power. "He's been in a lot of pain because of this stuff, and I can't stand seeing him like that."

Still, the woman remained unfazed.

_Jeez, _Dean thought. _What's it going to take to get this old bag to listen to me? Sammy passing out cold on the floor? _Dean grabbed the clipboard resting on top of the counter not allowing himself to get anymore lost in his thoughts. "Thanks for your help," he said sarcastically moving to return to his brother.

"Fill those out and return them to that blue basket," she said her eyes moving minutely from the computer screen. "Then take a seat and the doctor will see you as soon as possible."

"Not me," Dean said gritting his teeth. "_My brother_." This time with the receptionist looking right at him, Dean turned and pointed to Sam who was somewhere between pain and boredom, half falling asleep. "Migraines and seizures," he said simply before spinning on his heel and returning to his seat next to Sam leaving a somewhat stunned but extremely composed receptionist in his wake.

"Sorry, Sammy. Tried to get you in sooner, but the witch at the desk is immune to both the charms of Dean Winchester and the puppy dog eyes." No need to tell Sam about the worried big brother part.

"Don't even need to be here anyway," Sam mumbled. "Just a waste of time."

"Tough," Dean responded and began filling out the paperwork. He could tell Sam still had a headache though his little brother vehemently denied it. Plus, Sam didn't need to fill out the paperwork. Dean knew just about everything about Sam his medical history. Of course there were a few gaps: Stanford, Hell, and the reason for their visit to the walk-in, the Pit and Sam's year without a soul. But for all the important questions Dean had an answer. That was all that mattered.

Settling the clipboard on his knees to gain a better writing angle, the elder Winchester turned to his dozing brother, "All right, Sammy let's get these forms filled out and get you a doctor."

"Don't need one," came a mumbled reply as Sam sunk deeper into the hard plastic chair pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dean shook his head. Apparently, his little brother wasn't dozing. That didn't stop the older Winchester from buzzing through the forms, circling this illness and that injury writing in explanations where required, "Just a few more questions." He growled quietly under his breath at the length of the forms as if that would make the answers fill themselves in, "Why do they want so much information anyway? What do they do with it all? Other than use it to take people's money?" He finished the forms with a flourish, signing, dating, and copying his information into the emergency contact position. "There. Done."

Dean slammed the forms into the specified basket. His voice dripped with sarcasm, "Here you are ma'am. Can my brother see a doctor now?"

The receptionist again never took her eyes from her computer, "We are a walk-in clinic, which means we are very busy. If your brother is desperate for care then maybe you should go to the ER down the road. Otherwise be prepared to wait. Your brother will have to wait his turn just like everyone else."

"Thank you for all your help," Dean commented, the sarcasm even heavier this time. He rolled his eyes which did no good as the receptionist didn't even acknowledge his presence after her comment about the ER. He ignored the comment his only focus on Sam.

The younger Winchester was scrunched up well as much as his 6'4"could scrunch to a chair meant for someone half his size. His body was almost completely folded in half with his head resting on his hands. Dean couldn't tell if his little brother was asleep or not. Sam could very well just be pretending in order to avoid conversation. It wouldn't be the first time either of the brothers had resorted to this tactic when in this type of situation. Forced to do something he didn't want to do by the other.

Dean leaned down and shook his younger brother's shoulder in case Sam really was sleeping. "Sam. Hey Sammy. You still awake there, buddy? Still doing okay?"

"N' Not 'wake D'n. 'm fine. Lemme sl'p," even only half aware Sam answered his brother's questions.

"No, you're not fine. But go back to sleep we'll talk about it later," Dean said taking the empty seat next to his brother.

"M' 'ead h'rts," Sam rolled his head toward his brother looking for all the world just like he had when he was younger and thought Dean could fix everything.

"Don't worry, Sammy. We will get you all fixed up soon. Now go back to sleep, and I'll wake you when the Doctor gets here," Dean rubbed the top of Sam's head in a gesture of comfort.

Sam was almost entirely asleep, he was so bored and in pain, which meant he startled a little when Dean touched his arm. "Sam. They're callin' your name, Dude."

Sam got up, stretched, and turned to his brother, "Still think this is unnecessary. But FINE, if makes _you _feel better." He moved toward the waiting nurse, rolling his eyes. "And since you are making me do this, you might as well come back, too."

"Are you sure? Aren't you a little too big and a little too old to have big brother come with?" Dean was surprised Sam had asked. Normally, his younger brother seemed to think he could and should handle everything on his own. Sam could be missing multiple limbs and still believe he was expected to function exactly as he always had. The older Winchester quickly masked his surprise. He was also secretly pleased Sam still needed him and still wanted him there.

"I figured since you dragged me here, you might as well come with because you'll make me tell you everything in the car anyway, "Sam said wisely, knowing his big brother almost as well as Dean knew him.

"If you say so, Sasquatch," Dean said with a laugh and pat on Sam's shoulder. "Let's go before this pretty lady gets tired of waiting for you and moves on to the next person."

"Fine by me," Sam snarked.

"Come on Sammy," Dean said grabbing his little brother's arm.

"It's Sam," he responded pulling his arm back. The brothers followed the petite nurse's _Finding Nemo_ scrubs down a long, narrow, straight hallway. To Dean, it looked like the thing went on for miles. He couldn't even imagine what it looked like to Sam. Probably something out of a horror movie. It did seem as though Freddy or Jason was going to pop out from behind one of the closed sterile, white exam room doors.

On the one hand, Dean hoped the imagery wasn't too much to induce one of Sam's hallucinations. But on the other hand, if Sam had a hallucination or a flashback, the doctor would be able to figure out how to best treat the seizures, hallucinations, and other hell-induced things that had the older Winchester constantly on edge.

Things like what Sam was currently doing: subconsciously sticking close to his big brother as they passed door after door, going deeper and deeper into the heart of the clinic. Dean knew the hallway wasn't as long as it seemed. It only appeared that way because Sam was so nervous and in turn his anxiety also transferred to Dean.

He knew at this point his little brother was trying extremely hard to keep it together. Hospitals scared the younger Winchester almost as much as clowns. But to be fair, Sam had every reason to be terrified. Almost every bad thing that had ever happened to him had happened in a hospital. Dean knew the clinic wasn't a hospital, but it had the same antiseptic, medicinal smell, which the older Winchester knew was more than enough to set Sam on edge.

Dean moved deliberately closer to his little brother, but not so much so that Sam noticed. The older brother imperceptibly brushed Sam's shoulder with his own in a show of solidarity.

In response, Sam offered his big brother something that was a cross between a wan smile and a bitch face.

Dean just assumed his little brother was still pissed at him for having been dragged here against his will but grateful for the fact big brother had the good sense to tagalong.

Stopping in the middle of the never-ending hallway, the nurse gestured the brothers to a scale. She looked back and forth between the brothers. "Now, which one of you is Sam?"

Sam meekly raised his hand feeling like a fourth grader who had been asked a question he didn't know the answer to.

The nurse gestured toward the scale, gently forcing Dean off to the side as she took Sam's height and weight.

Dean turned away giving his brother a modicum of privacy. He could just imagine the comical scene taking place behind him as tiny nurse proceeded to try and measure his gargantuan brother. He wondered if they had some sort of stool stashed back there for these instances.

Continuing down the never-ending hallway, the nurse led to an open exam room. Dean was glad for the pause. It had begun to feel as though they were in a funhouse or house of mirrors at the carnival, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how Sam was feeling.

Gesturing into the room, the nurse pointed Dean toward a flat-backed chair in the corner and motioned Sam toward the exam table. "I just need to your vitals and record some basic information," she said seeing Sam glance nervously at her and then stare apprehensively at the exam table but making no move closer to it.

Dean nudged his little brother in an attempt the not horribleness of the situation. The nudge was accompanied by the patented Dean Winchester smirk, only used in the most benign of circumstances.

Sam scowled at his sibling in a way that said, "If there's nothing to worry about, why did you drag me here in the first place?"

The older Winchester responded, raising his eyebrows to say, "Really? You're asking me that question right now?" Then he offered a soft smile only Sam could see. A smile that said, "Please, for me Sammy? Just do this for me. I'm right here. Nothing bad's gonna happen to you as long as I'm here. I won't let it."

Sam stood stock still as though weighing his options.

Dean slid the chair the nurse wanted him to sit in closer to the exam table before sinking into it. He knew his little brother had always had a closeted fear of hospitals that had only gotten father's death, not to mention Dean and Bobby's subsequent hospitalizations. Dean knew it didn't matter that this was only a walk-in clinic. All medical facilities gave Sam the heebie-jeebies. Dean knew his little brother always expected the worst to happen, which could have something to do with their small hunting family only seeking medical attention when the situation was desperate or life-threatening.

Seeing her patient still in distress, the nurse grabbed his hand and led him to the exam table like a small child at the doctor for the first time. "It's just vitals and a history I promise. Nothing scary, just pulse and blood pressure and the reason for your visit." Again the nurse felt as though she was addressing a young child or a frightened animal, not a grown man in his twenties.

Dean assumed the nurse had done this a lot in her years in the profession. It didn't matter that Sam was a grown man in his late twenties/early thirties. To the nurse, he was probably just another scared patient who didn't like doctors, she had to calm down in order to do her job.

Sam rolled his eyes at his older brother's movement.

Dean supposed part of the eye roll was for what Sam considered to be the nurse's demeaning actions. But if, he had just gotten up on that table.

With a reluctant huff, Sam took a seat on the table.

The nurse then executed the needed procedures she had previously explained to the brothers in a quick and efficient manner to limit her patient's anxiety. She took Sam's blood pressure and pulse.

Dean's hand stayed on his brother's knee throughout the proceedings. Even though Dean could sense Sam's agitation, using his well honed big brother sixth sense, he was impressed at his younger brother's ability to calm down or at least project enough calm for the readings to appear within normal ranges. But as he thought about it, Dean realized he had the same ability. With all the horrifying stuff they had seen and still saw on a daily basis, the ability to appear calm while actually being completely terrified on the inside was a valued and required skill.

"All righty then. You're just a smidge elevated, but that's to be expected given your nerves. Even though you're elevated, you're still within the normal ranges. Now, what seems to be the reason for your visit, Mr.…" she trailed off pausing at the alias of the week as though confused by the name.

"Sam, just Sam is fine," Sam said giving his first verbal response since being called back.

"Okey dokey Sam. What brings you to our fine walk-in this afternoon?" she asked, poised to record his answer.

Dean smiled inwardly both at the fact the nurse had said "okey dokey" and when Sam rolled his eyes again at the chipper nurse. He could swear she hadn't been that chipper when she'd retrieved them from the waiting room.

Seeing Sam's discomfort she dialed back her cheery demeanor and lowered her voice back to its original tone. "In order for the doctor to effectively treat you Sam, we need to know what brought you to the walk-in."

Sam once more turned his gaze toward his brother rather than answering the nurse's question. He couldn't exactly tell the nice civilian he was having headaches and seizures brought on by memories of time spent in hell specifically Lucifer's cage, spending quality time with the devil and his brother the pissed off archangel, Michael. Memories of being burned alive, having the flesh peeled from his body like the peel from an apple. No he couldn't tell her his real reason for being here. Most hunters wouldn't even believe it. And this nice little nurse was sure to send him for a psych consult. So Sam did what the brothers did most of the time in this instance. He didn't exactly lie, but he wasn't about to tell the whole story and get thrown in a mental institution either. "I have these really intense migraines, and they freak my brother out. So he made me come here."

Dean pursed his lips in an effort to hold back the retort, knowing what Sam said was true. Then he raised his eyebrows silently urging his brother to tell the rest of the story. Maybe not the part about being roommates with the devil, but the part about the seizures, both kinds.

Sam glared at Dean but knew his older brother would never leave him alone, never drop the subject, until someone with a medical degree told them the physical manifestations of his memories were nothing to worry about. The younger Winchester grudgingly continued, "And I've been zoning out sometimes too. That's it." That's all she needed to know. They could treat his condition just fine with that information. No need to tell about the convulsions. The zoning out was embarrassing enough. Any more data would just be ammunition for his older brother to use against him. But Sam had forgotten Dean already knew plenty of intel of his own.

"Actually," the older Winchester butted in ignoring his little brother's pleading look. He knew not look or else fall victim to the puppy dog eyes. "He had two episodes, like big convulsing ones." It was then he chanced a glance at Sam out of the corner of his eye. His little brother was shooting him a death glare he was pretty sure was strong enough to salt and burn a ghost without any help.

The nurse took down these new additions without so much as a blink or hitch in her keyboarding. She now directed her questions at Dean as Sam had been otherwise occupied during the episodes, which was a nice way to say he'd probably been unconscious. "How many episodes like this has he had? And how long did they last?"

Dean exuded confidence much as he did in anything regarding Sam, while his younger brother pouted on the exam table; his head bowed so his long hair hid his face. "He's had at least two that I know of. But I can't be sure if that's all he's had. And they both lasted around five minutes. But like I said, I can't be sure. "

"That's fine. As long as you tell the doctor as much as you do know, so he can make a proper and complete diagnosis. She gazed pointedly at Sam. "The easiest way to treat you is if the doctor has all the information from the start."

"I told you everything I know, "the younger Winchester defended. "I don't remember anything other than zoning out."

The older Winchester was surprised. Sam didn't usually snap at anyone other than the people closest to him, which was a short list: their dad, Dean, Bobby, Jo, and possibly Ellen, but Dean wasn't sure if Sam would have ever had the guts to snap at Ellen. Regardless, Sam had never, ever, not even when he was soulless, snapped at a total stranger, especially one who was trying to be helpful. "Sam," Dean said in warning.

"Dean," Sam mumbled testily. "I can't tell her something I don't know. All right?"

Again Dean was taken aback at Sam's behavior. It seemed as though Sam was attempting to have it out with him in front of the nurse.

"That's okay. I was just trying to get a complete picture for the doctor. He tends to want to know everything. But I think that's all the information I need for now," she said scanning the input on the computer screen. "Nope I just need one more thing. How long ago did all of this start?"

If the brothers were honest with themselves, it probably all started the minute Death put Sam's soul back in its rightful place. But again that definitely wasn't something that could be said out loud. "About a week ago. We were…" Dean paused trying to think of a plausible explanation as to what they were doing in Bristol because he couldn't just come out and say they had been hunting Spiderman.

"I was visiting an old friend and Dean volunteered to come with me," Sam figured since Dean was blabbing everything. He might as well actually do something to help the situation since most of the story was going to come out sooner or later anyway.

This time the older brother was able to hold in his look of complete and utter shock, only doing the eyebrow raise in his head. He knew Sam was waiting for him to show his confusion by the way his little brother stopped his explanation to the nurse.

"That's all the information I need for now. The doctor may ask a few more questions when he comes in."

"What sorts of questions?" Dean asked wanting to prepare himself and his brother. He wanted to get Sam the help that was needed but didn't want to unnecessarily trigger anything. As he sat next to his little brother, again the though crossed his mind that Sam having a seizure in the clinic might not be the worst thing in the world because then even though the doctor would still not know what was going on in Sam's head, at least he would physically know what was happening when Sam experience flashbacks. Much like Sam's visions involving the yellow-eyed demon had caused migraines Dean felt that the seizures were Sam's body's way of dealing with the stress caused by nightmarish memories. And if there was any way to curb both the physical and emotional effects the memories had on Sam all the better for both the brothers. Because when Sam was stressed or hurting Dean hurt right along with him. So Dean could handle his little brother being taken care of because they would both feel a lot better about the whole crappy situation. Dean was so absorbed in his own thoughts he didn't even hear the answer to his own question or hear the nurse leave the room. However, his big brother instincts honed right in to Sam calling his name.

"Dean. Dean. Dean!" Sam sounded a bit worried. "Dean, where did you disappear to, man? The nurse totally thought you were listening to her, but you were a million miles away. I don't think I've ever seen you think that hard, "he joked trying to lighten the mood despite his crankiness at his circumstances. "What gives?"

Dean knew he couldn't tell his little brother what he was thinking. So he did what came naturally. He deflected the question with one of his own, "So what did the nurse have to say when she thought I was so raptly paying attention?"

Sam seeing the tactic for what it was dropped the issue, vowing to come back to when his brother felt less cornered. "She just said the doctor will probably ask more about my symptoms like: more about what happens and how long my 'episodes' last. She said too that he would also probably ask about the cause. Like what we think is causing these 'episodes'. What are we going to tell him, Dean? I mean we can't tell him, 'Yeah, doc. I know exactly what's causing my seizures. You see I was in Hell for a year then I came back soulless. After that, Death, you know the horseman of the apocalypse, yeah that guy. Well, he retrieved my soul from Lucifer's cage and shoved it back into my resisting body. But he put a wall up to block out the memories of my crazy year and my time in the cage. So long story short, the seizures are my body's way of coping with the stress of getting those memories back.'" Sam took a breath and rolled sarcastic yet panic-filled eyes toward his big brother imploring Dean to come up with a solution. When his brother didn't answer the younger Winchester continued, "Because that would go over real well. We'd both be committed, and you know it. We need a believable fake cause. Something that will make sense to someone who hasn't seen all the crazy messed up crap we have," Sam huffed, his tirade finished, and again looked to Dean for an answer.

"Well, first off, you are going to calm the heck down."

Sam gave his brother a "what are you talking about?" look.

"Don't give me that look. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Secondly, this is no different than any other time we've been in a hospital or clinic. We've come up with plausible explanations for supernatural caused injuries plenty of times before. What makes this time any different?"

Sam opened his mouth to say this time was completely different but for the life of him he couldn't come up with a valid reason to support this opinion.

"That's what I thought."

"So any ideas Dean. We still need a conceivable story to tell the doc. I mean it was your brilliant suggestion well more like coercion to come here in the first place. What's the big plan? What are we going to tell the good doctor?"

Dean could tell his little brother was getting agitated again and was still bitter about being dragged to the walk-in. He analyzed Sam's pout. This was the "I'm not going to be helpful at all" pout.

The look on Sam's face told him, "You got me into this mess that I didn't even agree to, now get me out."

The older Winchester turned away from his brother, giving himself a few moments to formulate an answer. "Here's what we're going to do Sam," he said facing his brother again. "When the doctor comes in, we're going to tell him exactly what we told that cute little nurse. And we don't say anything about the cause unless he asks. People have seizures all the time, and the cause is never figured out. I'm surprised you didn't know that, Geek boy," he said covering the fact he had only just remembered that bit of research.

"But Dean…"

"Don't 'but Dean…' me. You asked for a plan; there's a plan. Just go with it, Sammy."

"It's Sam, and there's something you should know…" Just as Sam was about to blow his brother's plan to bits, the doctor walked in.

He was a middle-aged man who strongly reminded Dean of his father. There was a "take no crap from anyone" attitude about him. But that was where the extent of the resemblance. The doctor towered over Dean as the older Winchester sat in the chair, and Dean had no doubt this man would give Sam a run for his money in both stubbornness and height.

The first thing Sam noticed wasn't the height though; it was the man's hair. He looked like Carrot Top, his bright red hair streaked with salt and pepper. His dark brown eyes were so dark that Sam had to resist the urge to say Christo.

The doctor however, didn't notice or didn't care that the Winchesters were evaluating him, just made his way to the computer pulling up Sam's chart. Once the records were up, he threw first a puzzled look at Dean then a more analytic one at Sam. "Hello. I'm Dr. Kenring. So Mr. …"

"Sam, just Sam," the younger Winchester interrupted.

"Sam, it says here you came in today because you were having seizure-like episodes. Is that right?" When Sam nodded, the doctor continued, "Could you describe that for me?"

"Well…" Sam looked to his brother for reassurance. When Dean nodded, he continued, "I get these really intense migraines and then when my brother and I were visiting a friend a few weeks ago, I started zoning out."

Dean butted in, "We didn't think anything of it until it happened a couple of times. He's had a couple of convulsion things too." He tried not to shudder at the memory.

"And you are?"

"Dean."

"He's my brother. And I said he could stay."

"Oh, well then," the doctor directed his next question at both brothers, "do either of you remember anything unusual that precipitated these events?"

Dean raised questioning eyebrows at the doctor's language.

"Did anything out of the ordinary happed before the blackouts or convulsions?"

"Nothing I can think of," Dean said.

_Except talking about what happened when I was soulless, _Sam thought. But even though they couldn't mention that, that couldn't be the trigger because Cass had discussed Sam's soulless year with him and nothing had happened. So there had to be some sort of specific trigger other than just talking about it. "Nothing I can remember," Sam said out loud. And truthfully he couldn't. He had no memory of what happened directly before or after his "episodes". Of course, despite this teensy bit of memory loss, he could remember everything that had happened during. Again this was information best kept to himself.

The doctor addressed his next question solely to Sam, "Have you been under any unnecessary or new or added stress lately?"

Dean knew the answer was yes, but kept his mouth shut and waited to see what his brother would say.

"Well, lately my job has required some extra out of town commitment, and that was kind of stressful. It's also been a bit of a crazy year with the family and such."

_True, but the understatement of the century, _Dean thought. _Between what happened before the cage then that whole mess._ But he let his brother continue with the explanation.

"So extra stress from work and family could be considered the major trigger? Which one would you say is the bigger trigger?"

Sam turned to Dean for help. He knew what he thought was the trigger but could never remember what happened immediately preceding his seizures. He had a vague feeling he should be doing something or that something was wrong then the seizure happened with no more warning than that. So Sam had no idea what the trigger was. "I don't know. I honestly have no idea."

So the doctor repeated his question. This time solely directed at Dean, "Have you noticed anything specific not matter how small or unimportant that happens before Sam had his 'episodes'? Were you talking about something specific? Were there any specific sights? Smells? Sounds? Any of these could be Sam's trigger."

All Dean remembered talking about was Sam's time without a soul and the time in the cage. But the older Winchester guessed his brother had already sort of covered that in his explanation, so there was no need to expand. "Nope I don't remember anything specific. Nothing comes to mind."

Sam shot his brother a grateful look Dean didn't return.

For him, the statement didn't deserve any gratitude. He was telling the doctor happened. Because there had been times when they had discussed Hell, the cage, and RoboSam and nothing had happened. Admittedly, Dean avoided the topic like he avoided vegetables unsure of what minor details could bring down the fragile wall in his brother's head.

"Any tiny thing. Even the most minute, detail would be helpful," the doctor reiterated shifting his gaze back and forth between the brothers.

Both Winchesters shook their heads in response.

"Well what I'm going to do is refer you to neurology unit right next door. I'm going suggest you have a CT scan and MRI done. Sometimes seizures can be caused by scar tissue or other trauma to the brain which will show up on a scan. Have you had a head injury at all recently Sam?"

Sam wasn't sure how to respond, so again he deflected to Dean.

"He did experience some head trauma recently; could that be a cause Doc?"

"It's possible, but the scans will be able to give some more information. The neurology doctor will be able to use them to better assess your condition and prescribe treatment."

"Jeez, Doc, can't you just give him some pills and send him on his way?" Dean knew his little brother was going to be pissed at having to go see another doctor, especially as specialist.

Sam was already seething beneath the projected calm.

"No Dean I'm afraid not. Seizure treatment doesn't work like that. It's not something common like a virus. The first step in diagnosing seizures is to attempt to figure out the causes and triggers. Now, we've identified a general trigger as stress. But stress caused by what specifically? Brain trauma? Something else? That's what the scans may be able to show."

"Well, can I at least get in to see this specialist sometime today? We do have other plans today, Doc," Sam snapped.

Dean raised his eyebrows not only at his brother's rudeness but at the assertion. The only plans they had today were to meet up with Bobby at his salvage yard.

The older Winchester knew as far as the their curmudgeonly, older hunter friend was concerned Sam's health and well being were more important than arriving when the brothers said they would as long as he was kept informed of the Winchester whereabouts and they both arrived in one piece.

Both Winchesters knew there had been too many close calls in the recent past for Bobby to be anything but terrified if the brothers didn't call him regularly to inform him of changes in their itinerary. Especially since, the older hunter was probably freaking out considering he'd been the one to warn the older Winchester things could go sideways. Plus, he had been the one to question how Sam was walking and talking with the wall in his head. Not to mention, he had been given the barest knowledge about Sam's condition. But Dean couldn't share information he didn't know himself. That's why they were here. To see if the professionals could find something the hunters and their wayward angel friend had missed. To see if, there was any way to prevent or discourage Sam from scratching.

Bobby wanted information as much as Dean did if not more.

The elder Winchester knew the Bobby was scared his little brother would have a relapse and try to kill him again. Dean knew as much as Sam wanted to know what he had done, the memories scared him as much as they scared the older hunters. That was the main reason Dean wanted answers. He couldn't stand to see his little brother scared. And he also knew that as much as said little brother said everything to the contrary, he wanted answers too. The older brother recognized that Sam's protests were less about worry of what Bobby would think and more about worry as to where they were going.

Hospitals made Sam anxious and his fear had only multiplied after the car accident that had killed their father and nearly killed Dean. Then multiplied again after, their surrogate father had also nearly died in a hospital.

"Sam I cannot in good faith guarantee you will not have to spend the night in the hospital as I have no idea what the scans will reveal. I am simply recommending you follow through with the tests as episodes like you and your brother have described can be indicative of something far more serious. I can call over there right now and see if there is an opening available. The sooner you get this figured out, diagnosed, and treated the better."

"Go ahead and make the call, Doc," Dean said ignoring the clear mixture of Sam's pleading puppy dog gaze and a look of betrayal on his little brother's face even while Sam nodded.

The doctor smiled at the fact he had an ally in Dean then left the room to make the call, obviously pleased, believing his argument had swayed the patient.

Immediately, as soon as the door closed completely with a satisfying click, Sam exploded, "Why on earth did you do that for? Now, he actually thinks we're going to see the neurologist."

Dean stood to emphasize his point, "We are going, Sammy. You remember what Dad always said, 'Head injuries are nothing to mess with. You have a head injury, you get it checked out: no ifs, ands, or buts about it.' So if this doctor thinks you need to go see the head doctor you're going to see the head doctor. We've put this off too long as it is."

"Dad's not here, Dean. We don't have to follow every, single thing he told us to do anymore. We can make our own decisions, you know. _**I**_ can make my own decisions."

"I am perfectly aware Dad's not here, but he gave us some good advice especially when it comes to how to deal with injuries. And I'm not messing around with your health."

"It's _my_ health."

"I don't care. You can play Russian Roulette on your own time." You Sam opened his mouth to protest again, but Dean stopped him before the first word left his lips, "No, don't get to say anything. You're the one who wanted me back, remember. No you don't because that was that dickbag pretending to be you. But it doesn't matter. Anyhow, it's my job to look out for you. Just let me do my job. And for once, don't argue with me."

Sam pondered Dean's rant for a moment still ready to argue, but the moment his mouth opened so did the door.

The doctor came in, the smile on his face just as big as when he'd left.

The brothers had been so intent on proving their points to each other they hadn't heard the gentle, quiet knock on the door announcing his presence. "Gentlemen," the doctor said oblivious to the tiff which had been taking place. "I have good news. My associate at the neurology clinic is able to squeeze Sam in, if you can make it over there in a half hour. I know you said you had other plans for the day."

"Our other plans can wait," Dean said cutting him off. "Thanks for making the call. Anything else we need to know or are we free to go?"

"Nothing else I can think of. Here's a map to the hospital," he said pulling papers out of his lab coat pocket.

"Hospital?!" Sam cut in. "You said you were referring me to a neurology clinic, not a hospital."

Sensing his little brother was on the verge of a freak-out, Dean placed a calming hand on his shoulder and glared at the doctor.

"The neurology clinic is connected to the hospital," the doctor explained. "On this second map here," he pointed to a yellow-highlighted dot. Placing the maps side by side on a miniscule piece of the exam table not occupied by Sam, he continued starting again with the first map, "This map shows the most direct route from here to the hospital. Once you get to the hospital, you are going to park in this pink-highlighted parking lot. Then," he said pulling out the second map again, "Take the first set of elevators you see to the fourth floor. You're going to go down a short hallway, and neurology will be the first department on your right. Check in at the desk: give them your name and tell them you were referred by me. Like I said, you are already scheduled for an appointment in about a half an hour. That's it. You gentlemen are free to go. Sam, I hope everything turns out well for you." The doctor closed the door behind him leaving the Winchesters alone once more.

Sam grabbed his jacket from the chair behind Dean as he got off the exam table. "Let's get out of here, you jerk," he said striding out the door not even bothering to check if his brother followed. Despite the fact Dean had the keys to the Impala, the younger Winchester wanted the show he still had his independence in spite of his older brother's constant need to make decisions for him.

"Sasquatch slow down. Sammy come on. I have the keys, you know."

The younger Winchester kept going heedless to his brother's pleas. It wasn't that he didn't them; he just chose to ignore his big brother. Much of the time Dean was the only person Sam would bother listening to when it came to matters he had his own opinion on.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean muttered under his breath while trying to catch up with his long-legged brother. "How do you think you're going to get anywhere? Sammy please," the older Winchester said causing his brother's head to tilt at the rarely used word coming from Dean's mouth. "Sam stop."

The younger brother was so shocked by the order he stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn't heard that much authority in Dean's voice in a long time. If not before Stanford, then before Dean went to Hell. "Maybe I plan to walk," Sam snapped.

"Walk where? All the way to Bobby's?" Dean retorted. "We already checked out of the hotel remember."

Actually, Sam had forgotten and intended to walk back to the hotel. But he was too stubborn to admit the fact to his big brother. "I'm not going to the neurologist, Dean." By this time, the younger Winchester had bypassed the Impala and was now crossing the parking lot progressively getting farther and farther from his brother and the car. "I already did everything I agreed to. The one and only thing I agreed to: was to see a doctor. A normal, clinic doctor, nothing more. Definitely not a specialist. Absolutely not a neurologist. We already know how 'special' my situation is. We don't need a specialist to explain it to us."

"Sam," Dean implored, "just do this one more thing."

"No, it's one more and one more. I'm done."

"Just this one thing. Do it for me. It will give me some peace of mind. Heck it'll give you a little peace of mind too. Don't think I haven't noticed how little you've been sleepin'. Maybe this neuro whatever can find something to fix this."

As soon as his older brother had started pleading, Sam knew he had lost the battle to avoid the neurologist and began making his way back toward the Impala. And besides he was exhausted anyway. He continued mumbling protests and arguments under his breath until he reached Dean, "One thing is gonna turn to six. And it's not like anything's gonna help." Then he continued his rant trying to reason with his brother, "Death already said there is no way to permanently fix this. The wall is going to fall eventually. There's no stopping it. Hell is just too strong. Anything we do now is just a temporary fix. "

"Don't I know it, Sammy," Dean said patting Sam's arm as the brother backtracked to the Impala. "I know how strong memories of Hell can be. But a temporary fix is better than no fix at all. A temporary fix will give us time to figure out a permanent one. If all else fails, it gives us a way to cope or deal once the wall falls completely."

"What part of no don't you understand?" Sam shook his head, "Why am I even asking that? You haven't understood the word no since we were kids."

"Not when it comes to you Sammy," he muttered opening the driver's side door.

"Huh? What?" Sam asked giving in and climbing in the passenger side.

"Nothing," Dean said shoving the keys into the ignition, pulling out the map, and then searching for his Metallica tape. Anything to keep from looking at his brother. "Just one thing. Do this one thing for me, and I promise I'll stop harassing you about your head."

"Yeah, and how long's that gonna last, Dean? Couldn't I just get you some pie instead? Then we'd both be happy. Instead of you making promises you can't keep, and me being forced to do something I don't want to do. It would be a win-win for everybody. Come on Dean, please."

Dean focused even more intently under his seat, pretending to still search for his tape in the shoebox he called storage. He refused to fall for the patented Sam Winchester puppy dog eyes. That dewy-eyed, wide-eyed, sad, desperate look that could get Dean to do anything or give Sam anything he wanted. If Sam asked for the moon with that look, Dean would everything in his power to get it for his little brother, even if, it meant building the rocket and piloting it himself in spite of his fear of flying. That look meant Dean would do whatever it took to please Sam. That was the danger. And was why the older brother kept his gaze so focused. This was one issue he couldn't cave on. He couldn't allow himself to give in this time. That was what had gotten them in this mess in the first place. Dean had let himself be taken in by the puppy eyes which had given Sam the opening he needed to convince his older brother to stay and check out the case in Bristol. And Dean had agreed despite every single one of his instincts telling him to take his brother and run as fast and as far he could from that town. It was also why they had waited so long to see a doctor. All because of that stupid look. _Where did Sam learn that darn thing anyway?_ Giving up on his search, Dean started the car his eyes moving from the shoebox under his seat to the windshield and parking lot, his gaze never once shifting to the right, not even to check how Sam was. The determination to resist he puppy eyes and follow his protective instincts to take his little brother to the neurologist to keep him safe outweighed those of needing to make sure he was comfortable now. "You're going Sam, and that's final," Dean said maneuvering around the Chevy pick that had decided to wedge itself into the end of the aisle. _Good taste; shitty parking skills, _the older Winchester thought too focused on avoiding even the most minute scratch from his baby to gauge Sam's reaction to his almost parental order. After playing what seemed to Dean to be a game of Frogger to get out of the parking lot, the older Winchester chanced a glance at his little brother.

Sam was glaring at him, a glare so intense Dean was surprised he wasn't bursting into flame or being exorcised. The younger Winchester's face was stuck somewhere between fuming and a pout. "This is ridiculous," he said his face scrunching into an even bigger bitchface.

"I know you think it's ridiculous, Sam, but it would make me feel a lot better if we do this. I'm begging you. Just do this. For me, please. For me," Dean ignored the break in his own voice at the end of his request.

But he was sure Sam had heard because after a moment's pause he replied, "I already said yes. But sure Dean and this is the last thing. One and done. Once this is finished, I'm done. I'm not falling for one more do this one little thing for me Sammy. No. This is the last straw. In fact, it is the last piece of the last straw."

"You're not gonna buy me pie?"

"No pie," Sam said leaning his head against the back of the seat pretending to sleep. All this arguing had given him a headache. "Wake me when we get there."

"You've been sleeping quite a bit when you do sleep," Dean said not expecting a response. "I bet it's a side effect considering you normally never sleep, and if you do it's never for long." He rolled his eyes at his baby brother's persistent stubbornness. Of all the Winchester traits to inherit, "What am I going to do with you Sammy?" he asked before turning his eyes back to the map to follow the directions to the hospital.

Arriving at the hospital, parking proved to be a slightly better exercise than at the clinic. "Hey Sam we're here," Dean said shaking his brother's shoulder even though he was sure Sam had been faking.

"Let's go and get this over with," Sam said still slightly groggy from the headache he had no intention of telling his brother about. He attempted to stretch as much as he could while still in the car.

The older Winchester steeled himself for his little brother's protests. Hearing none, he locked his door and began walking toward the marked entrance knowing Sam would follow suit.

The younger Winchester was to resigned and worn out to do much else.

Dean pulled the second map from his jacket pocket. "All right let's see where we gotta go. Sammy, you're the better navigator. You want to try?" Dean wanted to distract his brother just a little. Sam was way too focused on the neurology clinic being part of the hospital, and he was wound tighter than a dollar yo-yo.

"Stop with the Sammy thing. It's Sam. And let's just do this, Dean," he responded through clenched teeth. "I don't want to be here. You know that. You know how much I hate hospitals. It doesn't matter that the clinic is only connected. I'm sure we'll be in the hospital at some point," he mumbled as they got on the elevator. The brothers rode to the fourth floor in silence. The tension in Sam's body building as they passed each floor until Dean thought he would snap like an overstretched rubber band.

"It'll be easier than a piece of pie, "the older Winchester said as he stepped off the elevator and spotted the sign for Neurology.

"It's cake, Dean," Sam said exasperated. But the exasperation was doing nothing to cover his nerves. Tension flowed off him in waves.

"Just relax," Dean said leading the way.

"Don't tell me to relax. I'll relax when we're out of here," Sam said following his brother and the direction of the arrow on the sign. 


	8. Anticipation, Expectation

Chapter 8: Anticipation, Expectation, Confrontation, Examination

**AN: Here's the newest chapter. Not too much happens. It's more of a lead in to the following chapter, but having them together got to be too long. Anyway not much else to say other than I hope you are enjoying the story. And if you like this one, feel free to check out my Season 8 finale tag: "Nothing and No One." More hurt Sam and big brother Dean. Enough of my babble: Chapter Eight. Enjoy.**

Dean saw Sam visibly tense up the minute they entered the clinical wing of the hospital. He guessed his little brother was afraid this journey would lead them to a hospital visit if not a hospital stay. He also assumed that's why this clinic was attached to the hospital. Sam was almost as afraid if not more afraid of hospitals than he was of clowns. Dean felt there was a connection between the two. Though, he never voiced his theory. He always figured it had something to do with the fact the pediatric rooms in almost every hospital they'd ever been to, were covered in clowns.

"Come on Sammy. Lighten up. Relax. It'll be a quick in and out for a couple of scans. Then we'll be back on the road and on our way to Bobby's. Before you say anything, I plan to call Bobby while you're in getting these tests or scans or whatever done of your head. You know, he's gonna wanna know you're okay. That old grump just wants to keep track of us. Sam, we're the only family he's got. But don't worry. I've got it all under control," Dean said patting his little brother on the shoulder trying to calm him down.

"That's what you said about the last place, Dean. 'Quick in and out. We'll just get a diagnosis and some pills.' That was only a walk-in clinic. This is a _hospital_, well neurology clinic but still part of the _hospital_. We're in the _hospital_ still waiting for a diagnosis, trying to find a neurology clinic. Because some quack thinks I need a scan of my head to tell us what's wrong when we already know what's wrong. But if we tell anybody, it's only gonna end in a psych ward." Dean didn't miss the way his brother emphasized the word hospital every time he said it or the way Sam's voice shook at the word.

"If you keep shoving down your emotions, and not addressing these cracks in the wall, you're going to end up in the psych ward anyway," Dean tried to calm down his extremely agitated little brother. They were starting to get skeptical looks from passersby. Also because Sam had now drawn himself up to his full height and his face was turning beat red while his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. The last thing they needed right now was Sam exploding, punching his brother in the face, and raging about Lucifer and the cage. That would end in a padded cell for Sam before his big brother could even hit speed dial for Bobby or mutter under his breath for his winged friend.

Not that Cass would answer anyway. He had flat out told the older Winchester that the hunter should just kill his little brother because putting his soul back in would kill him regardless.

No way was Dean accepting help from someone who essentially wanted to murder his brother. Sure Bobby wasn't entirely comfortable with the younger Winchester just yet, but there was no way he would ever lay a hand on the younger man unless it was in self-defense and there was absolutely no other option. "Sam. Sam. Sammy, you have to calm down or someone's gonna come down this hall and drag you away in a strait jacket on principle."

"It's Sam," the younger Winchester panted. Sam was breathing heavily as his fists still clenched and unclenched, making him look like a boxer in between rounds in the ring.

But Dean knew his little brother would never throw a punch unless provoked, and seeing a pair of scrubs in front of him right now would sure as hell be provoking.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam protested.

"Yeah, I know you think you are. That's why you need to slow your roll Sasquatch. I told you we would find a normal explanation for this one, and we will. By now they had navigated their way through the maze of hallways to the neurology waiting room. "Now, sit your ass down while I go check you in. And don't even think about bolting," he dangled the Impala keys, making sure they were seen.

"I know how to hotwire a car Dean," Sam muttered under his breath.

"I heard that. And I know I'm the one who showed you how," Dean said as he walked away. "Don't bother; I'd catch you before you even made it to the parking lot. This place is worse than a labyrinth. Now sit. I'll be right back," he said casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he heard the soft thump of a sasquatch-sized body doing a controlled fall into the cushioned waiting room chair. One look at Sam almost asleep seconds after sitting down told Dean he had made the right decision sticking to his guns and trusting the doctor's recommendation of the neurology clinic. He moseyed over to the check-in desk intent on charming the skirt off this receptionist since his powers had failed so miserably on the one at the walk-in. The older Winchester smiled as he approached. There were two girls in their twenties working the desk. The grin widened wolfishly, that would definitely be something he could use to his advantage. "Hello ladies," he greeted acting like he was in a bar rather than a hospital.

Both women looked up from their computer screens simultaneously jaws dropping at what Dean knew was a combination of practiced confidence and his amazing good looks.

"What can we help you with?" asked the brunette tossing her nearly black curls over while opening a new computer window.

The redhead pouted for a moment until the next patient came up asking for assistance. Dean gave her a quick onceover before turning to the receptionist who had spoken up. After all, he was here to get help for his brother not pick up women.

"Well, Darlin'," Dean began watching the girl wilt under his gaze. But he was not concerned with getting laid as much as he would like to. Especially since this girl had an amazing body and her friend was still eyeing him over the desk. But right now his main concern, which even overrode his own desires was his little brother: his sick, hurt, possibly dying little brother. "My little brother," he said pointing directly to Sam in the waiting room across the way, "was referred here by a Dr. Kenring from the walk-in clinic." Dean glanced down at the map where the doctor had written his information for the brothers to make sure he got the name right. "Dr. Kenring said he would call ahead and make sure there was an opening for my brother to get an appointment."

"Yes, yes. Here it is," the receptionist said clicking through a few more windows. "It says here that Dr. Kenring called to schedule an appointment for a Sam Singer."

"Yep, that's him," Dean said grateful that he had had the good sense to use Bobby's name on the forms rather than their usual rock aliases even though it had embarrassed Sam. The older Winchester offered a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes to the receptionist hoping to get her to speed up the process.

"Identification and insurance please."

Dean realized he would have to think quickly or this whole situation was going to end in a train wreck. Sam had an ID with the name Sam Singer on but no insurance to go with. The older Winchester had been so sure this was going to be an in and out thing he had just chosen an easy and unrecognizable alias rather than one with insurance attached. "Couldn't we just pay with cash? And why do you need an ID? Isn't all of my brother's information already in the computer?"

"Yes, Mr. Singer, it is, but we still need proof of insurance. It's clinic and hospital policy," she smiled regretfully looking as though she wished she could throw all the rules out the window for the brothers.

The older brother pulled out his best thoughtful face. "You see, Darla," he said glancing down at her nametag, "here's the thing. We didn't actually plan on coming here today, so all of our insurance information is at home. I was thinking if I gave you mine and Sam's IDs, maybe we could get this whole process started, and I could have my uncle fax you the information after I give him a call. Because can I let you in on a little secret?" he asked using all of the charm he possessed at that given moment.

The receptionist stared even more intently at Dean, "Of course."

Dean leaned down conspiringly, "My brother's kind of freaked out by medical places."

"Oh," she said sympathetically. "I guess the ID thing could work," she said seeming unsure of herself but going ahead and making a note in the file on the computer anyway. "Just so long as you call your uncle as soon as possible."

Dean pulled his and Sam's IDs from the pocket where he'd stashed them after filling out the forms at the walk-in with a sigh of relief. "Thanks sweetheart."

The receptionist blushed as she double checked the information in the computer making sure it matched that of the IDs. Returning the IDs, she said, "Any time. Hope your brother feels better, and it's nothing too serious." From the look on her face, Dean knew she knew better than to say, "I hope nothing's wrong."

He collected the IDs and made his way back to his brother almost running over two small children racing down the hallway. _Don't they know there are sick people here_, Dean thought shaking his head. "Hey Sam got you all checked in."

Through half-lidded eyes Sam glared at his older brother. "Now all we have to do is wait again," he said sarcastically.

"Dude, once we get this all figured out, I promise…"

"Don't bother," Sam snapped cutting him off. "I'm sorry, Dean. I just want this all to be done: the episodes, the headaches, the memories. All of it. I just want to be done," the younger Winchester sighed dropping his head into his hands.

"I know little brother. I know," Dean said setting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'll make you a deal. I'll wait 'til the doctor calls you back. Then when I go call Bobby, I'll see if I can scrounge up some coffee for you."

"Dean, you are not leaving me stranded here," Sam said panic rising. "If you do that they'll probably say they have to keep me overnight for observation. **Do not **leave me here. Don't you dare."

"Jeez Sam. Breathe. Relax," Dean said surprised his positive suggestion of coffee had ignited such a strong reaction in his little brother. "I won't even leave the building. I'm sure there's a visitor's lounge or cafeteria or coffee shop or something close by. I'll get the coffee and be back in this waiting room before you're anywhere near done in there. You won't even know I left."

"Whatever Jerk."

"Take another nap Bitch. You look like you're getting another headache and about to fall asleep. I'll wake you up when they call your name."

"Not tired," Sam said eyes falling shut against the florescences.

"Sure you're not. Just like you don't have a migraine either."

"Not. And I don't."

"Uh-huh, okay. Whatever you say," Dean nudged his brother's shoulder in a show of faked solidarity. He didn't like it when his brother lied to him. But he figured Sam was lying in an effort to convince himself and Dean he didn't need to be here.

Meanwhile, Sam leaned his head back against the wall in an effort to stop the basketball game currently taking place in his head. There was a constant thud, thud, thud like the basketball hitting the floor after every dribble. He just wanted this whole mess to be over. He was sick of people...okay sick of Dean trying to help him. What would these medical people even be able to do anyway? Dean expected them to fix everything. But how could they when they didn't even what was going on. What could any of them do, what could modern medicine due to fix a supernatural problem? A supernatural problem should have a supernatural solution just like he'd told his big brother in the car. But Dean had a point too when he'd said that while Sam's visions had been supernatural, the migraines that followed had been everyday split your skull open like a block of wood killer headaches. Sam sighed finally resigning himself to whatever he needed to endure to satisfy his older brother's overprotective urges. But he drew the line at a hospital stay. Sam had hospitals even more than Dean and even more than Dean most likely suspected. Probably because Dean was in the hospital much more than Sam was and when he was in the hospital it was usually something life-threatening. And Sam would have to sit in that stupid, plastic chair waiting to here if his brother was going to live or die.

"Sam Singer?"

Sam sat straight up pulled out of his musing by familiar name. He looked at his older brother expecting an explanation.

"What? It was the first name that came to mind when I was filling out those forms. Plus it was the top ID in your wallet. I just grabbed the first one I saw," Dean told his brother. But what he didn't say that Sam most likely knew anyway was that the Singer ID was the safest one to use because they could use Bobby as an extra emergency contact or as extra insurance if the hospital or clinic they were at required it. The older hunter was the closest thing to family the brothers had left and would be there for support and backup if the situation required it.

"Sam Singer?"

"Dude, you better go. I'll grab the coffee and call Bobby. Then I'll meet you right back here. I'll probably be back before you're even close to done.

"You better be. Don't you dare leave me stranded."

"Sammy, relax. I'll be back before you even notice I'm missing," Dean said clapping his younger brother on the shoulder. "Now go."

"It's Sam. And you better be here," Sam said before standing up and walking over to the waiting nurse. "You have the map don't you?" Sam turned around and asked concerned as the swinging door went shut, leaving his brother's shocked face behind.

Dean couldn't believe it. Here Sam was looking all depressed and a bit scared making his big brother feel sorry for him; then he goes and makes a crack like that. The older Winchester knew Sam almost as well as he knew himself if not better. The kid was trying to hide the pure terror of being in a hospital and the nervousness at being abandoned behind jokes and bravado. _Wonder where he learned that from?_ "Anyway, of course I have the map," Dean finally stuttered out a response before realizing his brother was no longer there to hear it. "Not that I need it," he muttered searching for the nearest coffee machine while checking his pocket for said map. _Probably from me, _he thought answering his earlier question. _Who else?_ He glanced down at the map having dug it out of his pocket. He saw a visitor's lounge a couple of hallways down from where he was standing. There was a restroom next to it. _Might as well check that out too._ Who knew how long they were going to be here. Dean wandered the hallways eyes focused on the map. He wasn't kidding when he told Sam this place was worse a labyrinth.

Searching the map didn't require too much concentration so Dean let his mind wander back to Sam and the circumstances the brothers were now faced with. And he recognized he couldn't fault Sam for being sarcastic and cranky. After all, his big brother had dragged him to the last place he wanted to be and talked him into seeing people he didn't really trust. Add that to the fact that Sam was still wary of Dean because he didn't know everything he had done while soulless, except for the beans Cass had to pretty much dump in Sam's lap, and well, Sam wasn't having the best day.

But despite all the crap the brothers had gone through lately, mainly, Dean keeping Sam from scratching at the wall and Sam wanting to scratch and figure out how many people's lives he'd ruined. Dean loved his younger brother, and he knew that whoever, no whatever had come back to him at Lisa's wasn't that person. If he could only get Sam to see that. Get Sam to see what had happened, what that thing had done didn't matter. Sam was getting to that point, despite all the secrets, he was trusting Dean to tell him if something major had gone down. He trusted his big brother enough to see a doctor about a supernatural problem. Trusted Dean to come back and not abandon him.

Despite wanting to know what he had done, he trusted Dean enough to stop scratching.

Or at least that's what Dean hoped. And he prayed, he would have prayed for it too.

Sam sure as heck didn't need to know what happened during his soulless stint. He already knew he had gotten Dean turned into a vampire and tried to kill Bobby. Whatever else had transpired had to be along those same lines. Along the same lines as what had happened in Bristol. RoboSam had allowed an innocent civilian become bait, shot him in cold blood, and allowed him to be turned into a monster. Real Sam didn't need to live with memories like that. Dean was going to protect his little brother. Because the more Sam found out, the guiltier he would feel. The younger Winchester would feel guilty and self-deprecating, which would only make him feel guiltier and more depressed.

Dean's goal once they were done with this whole hospital mess was to get Sam's thoughts as far away from the wall as possible. Take away all temptation. Though he had said he would stop scratching and that he understood the consequences, the older Winchester wasn't sure he did. Dean didn't think Sam comprehended that death was an option. And big brother responsibilities were to make sure death wasn't an option.

A vacation at Bobby's should do the trick. Bobby would find something to distract Sam just like he had always done when the boys were younger and John and Dean would be away on a hunt. Distraction usually involved research but not too much in case it got Sam over-thinking, over-analyzing, and drawing conclusions about Dean or John being injured, mutilated, and/or possibly dead. That and Bobby always felt the Winchester brothers deserved to be children. So he would never let Sam research too much; he would give the kid novels and comic books. He would play ball with Dean, who would in turn teach his little brother all the moves Bobby had taught him, which was more than their father ever did. Dean loved the man he did, but John Winchester had been more concerned about protection and safety than he ever had about being a kid and having fun and being happy. Dean always thought Sam should have both safety and happiness. And Bobby's scrap yard had been the place to get that and still was, which is why that was where the brothers were headed after this whole fiasco blew over. Because if Sam was safe and happy he was less likely to poke at what he had done while he was dangerous, soulless, and angry.

Making Bobby the perfect solution for this situation. He would let Sam dig up research on Eve and various hunts all without letting the younger Winchester dig so deep it would trigger a flashback or memory. He would understand Sam's need to research, but his older brother's priority to keep Sam safe.

Speaking of the gruff older hunter, Dean supposed it was time to give him a call. Having found the visitor's lounge, the elder Winchester figured he could call his friend and surrogate father in semi-privacy while getting his caffeine fix. Glancing around he noticed the lounge was completely deserted. So much for semi-privacy, Dean would have total privacy to discuss his sick, stubborn, little brother with the only authority figure both brothers trusted. Dialing the number he'd had memorized since before he could read, Dean contemplated what he was going to say. He didn't want to tell Bobby too much.

Giving out the whole story was Sam's place. The younger Winchester would spill his guts and then some when he was ready.

But right now, Dean needed Bobby's assistance, support, and guidance.

"Hello," the phone stopped ringing and clicked on accompanied by the familiar voice which instantly set the older Winchester at ease. "Who's calling?" Bobby asked roughly when Dean didn't answer right away. "Who's calling?" he asked again, and Dean could clearly hear in his voice Bobby wasn't in the mood for games and was just about ready to hang up if he didn't get a response.

The older Winchester took a deep breath plunging head first into the situation like an icy pool, "Bobby, it's Dean. Winchester."

That was all it took for Bobby to snap into action, "I know who you are boy. What's going on? Did something happen on the hunt? What were you thinking? I knew I should have told you to come straight here after Bristol instead of taking that hunt in New Jersey. It was too soon. You both needed a break, and I shoulda insisted on it. I love you boys. But sometimes you're both too fool-headed too realize when you're in too deep. One of these days, you are both gonna end up so deep before you catch on to it, it's gonna drown you," Bobby paused in his rant to take a breath and calm himself down, assessing Dean in the silence radiating from the other end of the line. Those two brothers were going to give him a heart attack or a stroke one of these days.

"Bobby, you still there?" Dean asked afraid after that outburst the older hunter had finally had that heart attack he always joked about, way too often in Dean's opinion.

"I'm still here. Now, what did you call for? I know you, and you calling twice in one week is never a good thing," Bobby said his mind racing through every single nightmare scenario that would have Dean calling him more than once. Most of them involved Sam and something happening to the younger Winchester. And the veteran hunter had seen a lot of things in his time, but he didn't think he could stomach another deal.

"Aww Bobby. Come on. Don't say that," Dean griped though secretly knowing it was true. "We call when we're not in trouble," he said though he struggled to think of a time recently.

Bobby snickered, "Not usually. Usually, you don't call unless one of you is missing or deathly injured and the other one is at the end of his rope."

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean said sheepishly and the family friend could almost picture the shame ridden look on the younger man's face. "We'll do better. I promise.

"Don't apologize. And don't go makin' promises you can't keep. Just tell me what's going on and what I can do to help. We'll figure out the rest later. Now what's the situation? What fool mess have you two idjits gotten yourselves into this time?" Bobby figured two things. First, Dean would respond better to gruffness and semi-orders. Second, the older Winchester had separated himself from his little brother in order to make this phone call. And if he knew the Winchesters half as well as he thought he did, Sam hurt, sick, or injured was a Sam ready to bolt if left alone too long without Dean.

The older brother took another deep breath steeling himself for Bobby's wrath and lecture while at the same time hoping for the older man's support. "Well, Bobby remember when we talked last I said Sam's wall had cracked? Well, it cracked or leaked again or whatever."

"What?" Bobby interrupted even though he could tell Dean had more to say and if the boy didn't get it out soon he would explode worse than a ticking time bomb or an active volcano. "Is he awake? Is he coherent? Is he okay?"

"He's awake. He's fine. Or as fine as he can be given the circumstances," Bobby could tell Dean was shaking his head on the other end of the phone.

"What circumstances?" the older hunter asked fearing the worse.

"I dragged him to a walk-in and forced him to see a doctor," Dean said preparing himself for another lecture.

"Oh is that all?" Bobby let out a sigh of relief. Walk-ins weren't for emergencies, which meant the younger Winchester was okay for the time being. That gave the hunters some time to dig up a solution to whatever problem presented.

"Is that all?!" Dean just about burst out then remembered where he was at the last second. "The stupid doctor referred us to the neurology clinic, which is connected to the hospital, Bobby. The hospital. You know how much Sam hates hospitals especially after you and Dad. I probably had something to do with it too. He's got this idea in his head that hospitals are places where people go to die, not get fixed up."

"I wonder where he got that from," Bobby responded sarcasm dripping from his voice like water from a leaking faucet. "If you and your daddy, wouldn't have only gone to the hospital when you were about to keel over maybe that boy would have a different view on things. Now," Bobby said steering the elder Winchester back to the reason for their conversation. "What did you call for, other than to babble about your brother?"

"Oh that's right," Dean said getting back on track. "Because we're at the hospital, they want proof of insurance. I told the chick at the reception desk I would call and get the insurance information from our uncle and have him fax over a copy for the hospital records."

"All right, just give me the number of the hospital and name I'm supposed to use," Bobby said adding something about idjit brothers under his breath while pulling out a pad of paper and pen.

Dean paused, and Bobby hoped it wasn't some ridiculous rock alias again.

"Sam what, Dean? Just tell me what I'm supposed to write on the form. I haven't got all day, and you gotta get back to your brother."

"Sam Singer," Dean rushed.

"Sam what?" Bobby asked sure he'd heard the older Winchester wrong.

"Singer. S-I-N-G-E-R. You should know it Bobby. For Pete's sake, it's your last name."

Bobby was touched but hid behind his gruff hunter persona. "All right give me the number, and I'll fax over the information you need."

"The number is (628) 555-0656. The girl I talked to was Darla. The other receptionist was named Tara I think. Thanks Bobby. We owe you one," gratefulness seeped through in every word.

"Just watch out for your brother ya idjit," the older hunter knew he didn't have to remind the big brother but with those two boys. A reminder never hurt.

"Thanks again Bobby. You're awesome."

"Don't I know it kid. Now get going before your brother gets spooked and high-tails it out of there. And make sure the two of you stay out of trouble and stay protected." Between Eve, demons, angels, not to mention their new family the Winchesters needed to stay on their guard.

"Got it Bobby. Call you later," Dean said hanging up the phone dump most of his coffee down the grate. After that conversation, it needed a warm up. Then he was making his pit stop before heading back to his little brother. Bobby was right; Sam could easily get spooked and bolt before the doctors even had a chance to think about doing the tests to get Sam medicated. And big brother was going to in the waiting room to catch him, stop him, and drag him back. Unless, the younger Winchester had a good reason for running other than just being spooked. After checking the visitor's lounge to make sure no identifying evidence of him had been left, an automatic response, a habit from years of cleaning up after hunts.

Dean made his pit stop then pulled out the map to find his way back to Sam. Not that he would ever share this fact with his little brother. The older Winchester made it a point to keep his head down as though looking at the map despite the fact the just by refreshing his memory with one glance he could find his way back to Sam. Not to boast, but Dean could probably find his way back to his little brother if he had lost the map and been blindfolded. It was almost as if he had a sixth sense when it came to Sam. Speaking of that sixth sense, the older Winchester had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he entered the waiting room. But Sam had said he wanted to do this on his own. Well, hadn't so much said as implied. Dean knew he wasn't on his brother's best side right now, conning him into things he didn't want or felt the need to do. Sam may have felt the need to be independent from his brother. However, that didn't stop Dean from worrying about his little brother or stop that uneasy feeling from growing.

But, that feeling was shoved way down because Dean was trusting Sam. If it stuck around, then the older brother would take action. Settling in, he glanced around for a copy of _Car and Driver_, but after rooting through the magazines, only came up with an older copy of _People_ with Angelina Jolie on the cover. _Dang, she's hot,_ Dean thought picking up the magazine. He flipped through the pages not really paying attention as his mind was too focused on Sam wondering exactly what was going on with his younger brother. There was nothing he could do now, but wait.

So it was no use worrying.

_Yeah right,_ Dean thought. _When has that ever stopped me? Sam's my responsibility always has been. Mine and no one else's. _

Sam had been Dean's one and only priority since the first their mother had introduced them. Before she had died, their mother had been amazed at the closeness that had already developed. And their father had told them time and again how rare their bond was. Other's had also made this observation. So telling Dean not to worry about his little brother was like telling him not to breathe. It was something so ingrained, so innate, it happened without a second thought, without any thought at all really.

Which is why, it was taking so much effort to attempt to concentrate on the out-of-date article about the next big movie. After a couple more mundane articles about the latest hairstyles and fashion trends, Dean stumbled upon the Angelina Jolie cover article. In addition to the drool worthy pictures, the article wasn't half bad and did a fairly good job at distracting him.

Some ramblings about her and Brad Pitt. Actually, reading about the "crazy" and "weird" lives of celebrities made Dean realize just how weird and crazy the hunting life was. None of these celebrities had the slightest clue what weird and crazy really was. They wouldn't last a minute against a werewolf or a vampire or any of the other monsters Hollywood tended to glamorize. Dean thought back to the Paris Hilton case at the wax museum and almost laughed out loud. How anyone could consider her an idol, something to be adored, admired, and worshipped was beyond the elder Winchester. _Really? Demons he got; people were crazy. _Botox lips, scientology, vials of blood? If Dean didn't know any better he would swear all celebrities were something to be hunted. He rolled his eyes, but for some reason he kept reading. It was amazing how ignorant people could be.

That's were super smart people like Sammy in the world. To balance out all the dumbasses. Speaking of Sammy, Dean wondered how his little brother was coping with the scans.

Sam was probably protesting every test and scan, vehemently insisting he was fine and didn't need any of this and doctors should stop wasting their time and help someone who actually needed it. Then he would begrudgingly agree because he would remember he had promised his big brother to get this done to give them both peace of mind: mostly Dean, and to get big brother off his case. Sam would moan and groan, mumble and grumble, but he would let the doctors do their thing because despite all his protesting he was too polite to run. The only time Sam ran was when he was scared. Even then he would stand his ground until he was pee-your-pants terrified. So unless something drastic happened, he would politely, under protest of course, do everything that was asked of him.

While Dean's manners sometimes left something to be desired, the older Winchester had made sure Sam's didn't.

Right now, his younger brother was most likely apologizing to the nurse who had called him back for her having to set up the tests when he so clearly didn't need them. And then he would proceed to apologize to the doctor for wasting his or her time.

"Family of Sam Singer?" or said nurse was currently standing in the doorway calling for Dean instead of listening to Sam's apology.

"Dean Singer? Family of Sam Singer?" she called again her eyes scanning the waiting room.

_Why is she calling for me? _The deep feeling of dread returned to the pit of Dean's stomach. _She could handle the puppy dog eyes,_ he thought amused. Then his thoughts turned serious, _She would only be out here if something went wrong. _Dean's big brother radar was going haywire.

"Dean Singer? Family of Sam Singer?" she called one last time before turning back toward the door. This action snapped Dean out of his head and back to reality.

"I'm Dean Singer," he said standing up just as the nurse was about to walk back through the open door and most likely report to Sam she hadn't been able to find his family. "I'm Dean Singer," he said again. "Sam's my brother," he said walking over to her.

"Oh good," she said visibly relieved. "Your brother said you'd gone to make a phone call when I first brought him in, but I was hoping you'd be back by now," again her body radiating relief.

"My brother? There had to be a reason you came to get me," Dean asked redirecting the nurse back to her original purpose.

"He was fine while we drew blood, all be it a bit agitated."

_No kidding. _Dean thought. _He was probably having demon blood flashbacks._ The older Winchester nodded prompting her to continue as they navigated winding hallways.

"Then we took him for the scan of his head, and he was still fine until we tried to start the scan. During the beginning of the scan, he was fine, but as the scan went on, he started to panic. Mr. Singer, does your brother suffer from claustrophobia? That can sometimes be a cause of these attacks, but it wasn't marked in his chart," the nurse prompted knowing sometimes patients or their family members hide conditions they find to be embarrassing.

"No," Dean replied quickly but then rethought his answer. He didn't know Sam as well as he thought after his own trip to Hell, and Sam's trip to the cage. Screw that, he may not know his little brother as well as he once did, but he still knew a good deal more than even Sam, himself, did. For example: Dean knew as much as Sam thought he was coping and dealing with everything that had gone down lately, he wasn't. Granted, the wall in his head made it impossible to remember exact events and details. The older Winchester knew from his experience remembering his own time in Hell that even if you didn't recall exact events you could still bring up and have subconscious reactions to them.

Sam's subconscious remembered and knew exactly where it had been and wanted Sam to feel everything about the place. It didn't help Sam was filled with guilt and fear from what little he did recall or had been told. Those feelings didn't just go away or disappear, which Dean again knew from experience. Though with time, the memories had. Or had at least faded a smidge.

As a big brother, Dean knew his younger brother was trying to cope and smash all those thoughts and feelings down. But Sam was Sam, and those thoughts and feelings would overwhelm him because he would feel them ever stronger not knowing what was causing them. Now that bits and pieces were seeping through like water through a leaky roof, Sam felt even more scared, panicky, and guilty.

From the small amount Dean had seen, all this emotion was eating his brother up faster than any vampire could chow down. The elder Winchester had a general idea of what was going on in his brother's head. Not that was able or willing to share any of his theories with the doctors or nurses. If he did that, he'd end up in the looney bin, in a padded cell right alongside his baby brother. Best keep his musing to himself and share them later with Bobby.

Let this nurse and all the other staff think what they wanted about Sam. As long as: they didn't call him crazy. Dean's baby brother wasn't crazy, and no way was anyone going to tell the Winchesters and their friends any different.

Sam had been through enough crap, heck he'd practically been buried in it.

No way was Dean letting anyone else pile anything on his brother.

If Sam had had a panic attack, it was caused by something the doctor or technician had said or done. Which automatically put whoever had triggered it on Dean's shit list. And meant the older brother had to put a stop to it.

Nobody mistreated his little brother, not bullies at school or doctors at hospitals. It didn't matter if it was unintentional. The doctors would soon find out who was really in charge of Sam Winchester's well being or Sam Singer as the case may be. "My brother was recently a POW," Dean thought of the best way to explain his brother's behavior. "He's never had claustrophobia before. But would that be something that would cause it?" If the nurse could give the older Winchester some guidelines for the situation, he would be better able to do his job.

"It might. But it would depend on the type of treatment your brother endured while in captivity."

Dean cringed at the word captivity. It made Sam sound like an animal in the zoo. But that was probably how Lucifer and Michael had treated him. Something to be teased and gawked at, dangerous yet harmless at the same time.

"He doesn't remember much," Dean hurriedly replied hoping to make it clear to the nurse the subject was not to be touched with a ten foot pole. "It's almost as if he's blocked the memories with a wall." And that's as close to the truth as this conversation was going to get.

"That's not surprising. Many times, once a kidnap victim is returned to their normal life they block out anything and everything that remotely reminds them of the past situation. Which in turn can cause their subconscious to trigger a panic attack when memories resurface."

"Enough with the psychology. Just take me to see my brother. He'll calm down once he sees me."

"That's what we were counting on and hoping for. And why I was sent to find you. Here we are."

Dean didn't realize while he had been trying to figure out his little brother, the nurse had actually brought him to said brother. The older Winchester could hear Sam's panicked and labored breathing even though Dean and nurse were still a far bit away from the door the nurse was pointing to. "Sammy," he said and picked up his pace, so that now instead of following the nurse he was dead even with her and possibly even slightly ahead. _What did it matter if he passed her? _ He was only using her to find Sam, and now his little brother had been successfully found. "Sammy," he muttered again waiting at the door for the nurse to catch up and announce their presence. His big instincts revved up and insistent, honing in on Sam.

Catching up, slightly out of breath and a tiny bit amazed at the sudden rush of adrenaline that filled the gentlemen beside, the nurse knocked gently on the door to announce them.

The man beside tapped his foot and scrubbed his hand down his face in impatience. His face fixed in a worried grimace as the labored breaths coming from behind the door became louder and faster.

The nurse knocked again. This time more persistent.

A desperate "come in" followed the second knock.

Multiple voices floated out as the door was opened. "Mr. Singer you need to calm down."

"Mr. Singer, are you claustrophobic?"

"Mr. Singer, please calm down."

"Sam, calm down please."

Dean heard all the voices, but to him they blended together like a badly tuned radio station. So he tuned them out the same way. Yes, his little brother needed to calm down. No, he didn't need a million people yelling at him to do so.

The older Winchester knew exactly what Sam needed, and right now the thing coming the closest was the itty-bitty five foot CT technician, who was standing near Sam's head, attempting to placate him with whispered tones and non-threatening hand gestures.

"I got this," Dean said coming to stand beside her.

She eyed him skeptically.

"The nurse came to get me. He's my brother," Dean said to reassure her.

She'd at least tried to help his brother. The technician stepped aside without another word.

Dean liked her. He'd have to see if there was any way to leave her some positive feedback. However, right now his main priority was Sam. His little brother needed to calm down right the heck now! No ifs, ands, or buts about it. And the older Winchester was about to make sure that happened. "Sammy," he said moving into the spot the tech had vacated. "Sammy, you need to calm down," the older brother said using the same soft, soothing tone the CT tech had. "You're scaring this nice lady, Sam. All she wants to do is help."

Seeing the soothing tone wasn't working, Dean tried a different tactic. One that always, well most of the time, seemed to work on Sam's panic attacks when gigantor was younger and shorter. "Sam, you're fine. Snap out of it."

Watching Sam curl in on himself instead of sitting to attention as Dean had planned or the semi-hunched position he'd been in when his brother entered the room, Dean switched approaches once more realizing Sam was indeed experiencing a flashback or memory. Because not only was his little brother curled up into a shape so small it should be impossible for someone of Sam's size, but the younger Winchester kept muttering "no, no more" and grunting under his breath.

If they didn't get Sam calmed down soon, he was either going to pass out, be sedated, or head straight for a full-blown, Hell-induced seizure.

And as a big brother Dean have any desire to see any of those things happen.

But at least if Sam had a seizure the doctors could see exactly what Dean was dealing with. These episodes were hurting Dean almost as much as they were hurting Sam. It was excruciating to watch his younger brother try to deal on his own.

"Sam, look at me," Dean said placing his hands on either side of Sam's face. He knew from his own experience positive experience didn't happen in Hell, and if it did, it disappeared quickly because it was only a ploy to create a false sense of security. The older Winchester willed his positive touch to get through to his little brother. "Sam. Sammy, it's okay little brother. I gotcha. I gotcha. Everything's gonna okay, little brother. You're safe. You're not there anymore. I just need you to calm down for me okay? And let this nice head scanner lady do her job. You don't want her to get in trouble, do you?" Dean continued his monologue keeping one hand anchored to his brother's face while running the other through his hair.

It amazed the tech as she stood by watching the scene unfold. The older brother was talking to the younger like a small child, and remarkably, the patient was actually calming down. His breathing was evening out. He had stopped flailing and muttering and was now solely focused on the face in front of him. "Dean? Dean," at first the name was a question; then it was so full of relief it was palpable.

"Dean? What are you doing back here?" the younger man asked finally getting his bearings. "Oh no did I…?" he trailed off shuddering both at the image of flames still imprinted on his brain and in embarrassment at the thought of both having a seizure and mumbling about Hell in front of total strangers, not to mention civilians.

"Nah…Sammy, you didn't have seizure just an itty-bitty panic attack," Dean said trying to get his brother to lighten up by pretending it was no big deal. "You just scared this fine lady a teeny bit and prevented her from doing her job."

Sam tucked his head ashamed. "I'm sorry," he said. "This doesn't usually happen. My name's Sam by the way if you didn't catch it in all the chaos." His face was with shame, embarrassment, and leftover fear.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," the technician said. "At least, your claustrophobia kicked in a smaller space than mine does." She smiled. "I cannot ride in an elevator to save my life. I always take the stairs. So you're one up on me. "

Sam let out a miniscule smile and brought his eyes up to meet hers.

Dean was just about ready to kiss this technician. She had put Sam at ease by just being herself, not trying to make him do anything he didn't want to do, and not making him feel like an outsider or make him feel like he was doing something wrong.

"Now what do you say we try this again? But this time without all the theatrics okay?" And she was letting his little brother work through each piece at his own pace.

Sam tensed at the suggestion.

"Your brother can stay here if you like."

The younger Winchester turned bright red at the implication he needed his big brother to hold his hand even though that was the honest truth. His eyes cut to Dean who still had his hand resting on the exam table next to Sam.

The older brother proceeded to take care of the situation in his typical brash manner, "Well, I'm already all the way back here. I might as well stay and see the show. I'll finally get to see what's going on inside that giant, freaky head of yours. It's gonna be awesome. Name's Dean by the way," he said winking and introducing himself to the technician.

"Well, Dean," she said. "I don't know about awesome, but the brain is fascinating. Don't worry, Sam. I won't let your brother pick on you. And my name's Natalie by the way."

"Thanks for the offer Natalie, but I doubt you could stop him if he really wants to."

"I take offense to that," Dean said indignantly.

"Yeah, right," Sam said with a huff and an eye roll. "You probably take that as a compliment," he said and smiled.

"I think I can hold my own, Sam," Natalie smirked at the elder Winchester.

Dean was once again glad the technician was making Sam feel so at ease. It would make it easier to keep Sam's panic under control. And make him forget what was going on causing the process to move along that much smoother. "Well, Sammy," Dean said making a point to use the dreaded nickname. "I have the whole time you're in that scanner to think of some new insults." Which in Winchester-speak meant: "Don't worry, and don't be nervous. You have nothing to be scared of. I'll be here the whole time."

"It's Sam."

"Well Sam, what do you say you lie back, and we'll get you situated and get started," now that the commotion had settled down she wanted to get back to her job.

The young man tensed slightly at the mention of getting put back into the CAT scan machine.

Dean moved the hand that had been resting on the table to Sam's shoulder, leaned over, and whispered, "I'll be right in the next room little brother. I'll be here the whole time. Just signal if it gets to be too much." With a squeeze of his brother's hand, the elder Winchester helped Sam lie back and allowed Natalie to ready the scanner.

"All set, Sam. I just need you to lie really still and keep calm for me. Can you do that?"

Sam caught Dean's eye again. Despite the fact, he felt trapped and claustrophobic while in place for the scan, seeing his brother there calmed him considerably. He took a deep breath, "Yeah, let's just do this."

As the older brother and the technician moved into the adjoining control booth, Dean asked, "Is there any way I could talk with him? That's the only way he's going to stay calm. I'm serious you want him to stay calm at all, and I need to be able to talk to him."

The technician gave him a questioning look.

"He might say he'll keep it under control, but that's not going to happen, as much as he'd like you to believe it. And as much as he'd like to believe it too. You saw he was already starting to panic before you even put him in that thing. What do you think is going to happen once he's actually in there? You're just going to get a repeat performance. Is that what you want? I don't think so," not giving the technician a chance to respond Dean continued, "You seem like a nice lady. And thanks for helping Sam chill out before I got here. But he will freak out, so I have to be able to talk him down."

Natalie smiled. She had seen how easily the older brother had soothed the younger man on her table. "There's a microphone just over there," she pointed. "Press the blue button to talk. You will be able everything Sam says as well if you let go of the button. He will be able to tell you if he is feeling anxious or panicky or scared. Though, I'm sure you would be able to tell anyway."

She walked over to Dean by the microphone demonstrating how it worked as well as prepping Sam for the procedure. "All right, Sam. Can you hear me okay?"

"Yeah."

"I'm going to begin sliding you into the scanner. Let me know if you start feeling claustrophobic or anxious. And I'll slow down, or we can stop all together. We're doing this at your pace. Okay?"

"Okay," Dean heard a deep breath from inside the scanner. He glanced at the tech.

When she nodded, he pushed the blue button. "How you doin' in there, Sammy?" he asked trying to assess his brother's anxiety level.

"Dean?" Sam hadn't even noticed his brother's use of his nickname. It was as though he had forgotten Dean was there already. "Dean?"

"Right here, Sammy. Just tell either me or Natalie here if you start feeling nervous okay?"

"It's Sam."

"Got it Sam? Answer me. If you feel nervous, you tell us to stop, got it?"

"Got it, Dean."

"Good boy."

Natalie smiled again at the interaction between the brothers. It was as if no one else existed but the two of them. The CAT scan went off without a hitch and the MRI progressed the same way.

Dean there every step of the way, reassuring Sam the whole time the younger brother was no longer in whatever nasty place he'd been. As well as reminding him Dean was right there.

"All finished Sam," Natalie said as the older Winchester helped his brother sit up from the final scan. "Now all we have to do is: wait for the radiologist to read the scans."

"You mean you can't tell us what's going on with Sam's head?" Dean had figured once the scans were completed Sam would get whatever meds he needed, and they'd be on their way. Both brothers stared in disbelief that they'd be stuck for more time.

"Nope. Sorry, I just take the pictures," Natalie shrugged. "If you want to head back out to the neurology waiting room, the doctor will come and get you when we have the results and someone to read them."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Come on Sam. Let's go look at some more crappy magazines. He grabbed his little brother by the elbow.

"Thanks for your help, Natalie. Sorry for freaking out on you," Sam again tucked his head in embarrassment and shame, long hair falling into his eyes.

"Not a problem Sam. Like I said, 'you're braver than me.'"

Dean grinned, inwardly glad someone else besides family was showing and telling Sam just how brave he was. His little brother had done an amazing thing, and no one in the world knew about it. At least, Sam was getting recognition for his actions in a roundabout way. "Quit flirtin' and let's go Sasquatch."

The younger Winchester's face burned bright red from mortification and was not nearly quick enough to hide his crimson cheeks. "Not flirting," he mumbled. "Just being polite. You should try it sometime. Thanks again," he said before heading back to the waiting room. His brother muttering about how he was a better flirt than Sam would ever be the entire way. And Sam countered by asking where his promised coffee was.

Refusing to sit, Sam was fidgety with impatience. He just wanted to get out this place now, not wait around for some dumb test results that wouldn't tell them anything any way. Who knows how long that would take? They could be here for hours. Sam had already put up with enough doctors and questions. It was getting too hard to keep up the charade. His head hurt and he just wanted to sleep.

Not pretend to be someone he wasn't to take care of a problem he didn't have. Secrecy was pretty much his way of life, so he didn't like people who pried into his life and put their noses where they shouldn't, asking questions that didn't concern them. Even Jessica, the woman he was so in love with he was going to marry her, didn't know any more than partial truths about Sam. He was sick of lying. He just wanted to go home. Well, back to Bobby's.

So he turned to his brother; maybe he could convince Dean to forget about the whole thing. "Dean, we're not actually going to and wait for these results, are we?" asked through gritted teeth as the door swung shut behind the technician who had walked them out.

The older brother shook his head just enough so Sam could see and stop asking questions. His little brother was beginning to sound like a cassette tape with it tape caught. Dean already knew he didn't want to be here and felt bad enough about dragging him through all of this, but it was for his own good. Why couldn't Sam see that? Any of it?

The younger Winchester was exasperated but know it would be useless to harass the nurse who had brought them back as she continued to bring back patients or the receptionists who was continuing to check people in. None of the women was likely to know any more than the brothers did currently. Though the way those receptionists had eyed Dean up like a piece of meat said they would be more than happy to be the objects of Dean's harassment.

"We're not staying, right Dean?" Sam asked again moving in the direction of the check-in desk intending to leave the same way they had entered.

Dean tagged after his younger sibling, tossing the receptionists a charming smile as he passed by. "Sam," he called attempting to get his brother to stop while at the same time trying to catch up. Finally, he got close enough to clamp on his little brother's arm. "Sam. Sammy," he said under his breath, so they didn't draw attention to themselves. "We're staying at least until the test results are in. Otherwise, what was the point of even getting the scan if you don't stick around to see what it says?"

"We already know what it's going to say, Dean. And it's not anything good. It's not going to tell anything we don't already know. The only thing it's going to do is confuse the doctor so much he's going to want to make me part of some study, so he can get famous. I'm going to end up trapped like some lab rat. When the doctors say jump, I'll have to ask 'how high?' I don't want to end up as some damn science experiment."

"First of all, keep your voice down. Second of all, we are staying, and you won't be turned into a science experiment. Anyone trying to touch you says otherwise, and I'll rip his lungs out."

Sam smiled at the schoolyard reference. Dean always wanted to protect him from everything. "Big brother prerogative" he would say. But the younger Winchester knew this was not something that could be defended against. And he couldn't see the point in getting a second opinion because they already knew the answer. The second opinion was just because his older brother didn't like the answer, mainly the fact that Death's wall was crumbling just like the one in Jericho, but that didn't mean the answer would change to one he would like better. "Dean," he protested.

"Sam, since Bobby is willing to put forth his hard-earned insurance for us, let's just wait it out," Dean said placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "What's the worst that could happen? We wait a couple hours to hear news we already know. Bobby already knows we're going to be late."

There were a lot worse things that could happen. Sam had already come up with at least five different possibilities. They were Winchesters after all. "Fine, Dean. You win. But after these test results or scan results or whatever are in, we are leaving. We are grabbing food, you are getting me that coffee you owe me, and we are driving straight to Bobby's. No hotels. Gas is the only reason we stop at all."

Dean began to protest.

"And don't say something about me needing rest. I've slept plenty the last few days. And I can get any more sleep I need. I can get as much I want on the way to Bobby's. You can too. We've always slept better in the car anyway, you know that.

Again Dean's mouth was barely open, and Sam had an opposing statement ready to go.

"I know you're going to try and say I'm not fit to drive. But you know darn well I wouldn't mess with the Impala like that. That car is my home, and your "Baby". You know I would wake you up the minute something wasn't right, or I wasn't feeling right," finally he paused to hear his brother's response.

The brothers were still standing in the hallway between the waiting room and reception desk. Dean trying to direct his brother back to the waiting room. "That's exactly my point Sam. What if you can't? What if you're too far gone to thing about asking for help? The last couple episodes came on pretty quick. What happens if you're driving and have an episode, Sam? You risk hurting me, my baby, other people, and most importantly hurting yourself. We go through enough crap between the angels, demons, Eve, our crazy family, and whatever other Supernatural fuglies come our way. Why do you want to add to that?"

"I don't Dean," Sam disputed. "I'm just trying to get you to see this is pointless. And I'm trying to make the best of a sucky situation."

"So am I, little brother. That's why for right now I'm saying let's just leave well enough alone. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it and all that garbage."

Sam huffed at his brother's use of a cliché. As Winchesters they were anything but. "Fine but then you can't make a mountain out of a mole hill," Sam said throwing a cliché right back at his older brother. "I'll stay and wait for the scan results to come back."

Dean visibly sagged with relief.

"If…" And here was the catch. "If, you lift all your big brother restrictions until we have some real professional answers. Deal?" Sam knew there was no way Dean would ever risk or even consider possible damage to his baby no matter how much he wanted to know what those scans said, especially when they already had some semblance of an answer.

"Deal," Dean said assuming the doctor would side with him on the matter of Sam driving or operating the Impala. HE didn't really know why his little brother cared so much about the car anyway. He drove hardly at all. "For now let's just agree to disagree. Agreed?" Dean said hoping Sam would drop the subject for and now, and forget about it, or they would pick up the conversation after they had had a chance to talk to the doctor and Bobby.

Sam didn't say anything in response to Dean's quick agreement, just leaned back against the wall closing his eyes and muttering, "You still owe me a coffee."


End file.
